


theserpentgirl's Naughty and Nasty Tumblr Ficlets and Drabbles

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality (not explicit), F/M, HaleCest, M/M, Multi, Other, Stiles has fox ears and a tail, Underage - Freeform, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Tumblr, I'm theserpentgirl. </p><p>These are a variety of my Tumblr fics and drabbles. </p><p>Warnings and pairings will be added to reflect the different types of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday, Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Derek
> 
> Written for popcorngosong who asked for a birthday fic (in honor of Dylan O'Brien's b-day).

“I might be a broke college student, but I’m not stupid,” Stiles said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

“You might be out of a job if you can’t fill in for Erica tonight.”

 

“It’s my birthday! I might’ve had plans, you know—“

 

Boyd raised his eyebrow. “ _Did_ you have plans tonight?”

 

Stiles made a face. “No. But I might have! You can’t just rearrange the schedule last minute because you promised your wife a date night and didn’t check that she had the bar tonight. We have a schedule! That’s what it’s for! To check it!”

 

Boyd raised his other eyebrow and Stiles knew that when Boyd popped up both eyebrows, there was no point in trying to argue.

 

“Why don’t you just close the bar for tonight? It’s Wednesday night, it’s just the four regulars anyway, and we barely take in enough to break even.” Stiles flailed his hand at the four people who were sitting in their usual places.

 

He hated middle of the week nights because the tips sucked.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, Stiles,” he said, reaching out to pat Stiles’s shoulder. “You can have the next two nights off. I know you need the time because you have a lot of papers due next week.”

 

Stiles groaned and let out a deep breath. “Fine. But next week, I get first crack on the best nights at the bar.”

 

“You’re a good friend, Stiles,” Boyd said, smiling widely at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, making his way to the bar to begin setting up. “Well, I hope that you and Erica have a lot of sex tonight! To make my sacrifice worthwhile!”

 

“You better believe it, baby!”

 

Erica sauntered out from the main office wearing a slinky red dress and the highest pair of heels Stiles had ever seen. Her long blonde hair was swept up in a loose bun and Stiles smiled as Boyd’s face lit up, looking at her as if she was the only person in existence. He watched as Erica wrapped her arms around Boyd’s neck and gave him a soft kiss.

 

“You look beautiful,” Boyd said, taking a deep breath and holding her close.

 

“Awww, thank you, baby. Do you like my new dress?” She said, coyly, spinning around slowly.

 

Boyd smiled, nodding. “Yeah.”

 

“OMG. Can you please go? Have a good night,” Stiles called to them, grinning.

 

“Thanks Stiles, you’re a lifesaver!” Erica said, blowing him a kiss.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you two crazy kids get out of here before I change my mind.”

 

He watched as Boyd escorted Erica out of the bar, turning to give Stiles a last smile, and Stiles saluted him with a shake of his head.  

 

“That was a nice thing you did for them.”

 

Stiles turned to see a man sitting at the end of the bar, tucked away against the wall and partially hidden behind the register. He was wearing a black leather jacket, dark blue Henley, his dark hair was gelled, his eyebrows looked scary, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for weeks. He looked like a man that Stiles wouldn’t want to meet in a back alley, but there was something in his eyes that made him look approachable. Stiles had learned a lot about people and human nature from working behind a bar; he was usually a good judge of character.

 

“Hey, man, I didn’t see you there.” He stood across from him, hands in the air. “So, welcome to Boyd’s. What will it be?”

 

“Whatever you have on tap is fine,” he said, politely.

 

“Coming right up, sir,” he said, grabbing a tall beer mug and filling it expertly from the tap. He set it on top of a coaster and slid it across the bar to the handsome stranger. “Hey, let me get you some nuts, huh?”

 

Stiles scampered away, grabbing a wooden bowl and dumping a mixed bag of nuts into it, and then hurried back to the quiet man, setting it down in front of him.

 

“Thanks.”

 

He looked at the papers scattered in front of him and saw a roadmap of California. “So, are you on a road trip? What brought you here to Beacon Hills? I’m Stiles, by the way.”

 

“Derek, nice to meet you.”

 

“So, where are you from?”

 

Derek gave him a stern look. “Are you always this nosy?”

 

“Sure, I’m a bartender, it’s part of the job, dude.”

 

“Don’t call me dude,” he said, lips curling up in a smile. “Anyway, I am kind of on a road trip, I guess. I grew up here, a long time ago.”

 

“What brought you back? Feeling sentimental?”

 

Derek shrugged. “My sister died. I came for her funeral. And I have a lot of vacation time now so I thought I’d just drive up the coastline back to Seattle.”

 

Stiles nodded. “Hey, man, sorry for your loss.”

 

“It’s all right; we weren’t all that close.”

 

“Still, she’s your sister, it’s not something that you let roll off your back, you know?” He said, putting his elbows on the counter, and propping up his chin. “So what do you do in Seattle where you have all this vacation time?”

 

Derek smiled at him and took a sip of his beer. “I play Short Stop for the Tacoma Rainiers.”

 

Stiles opened his mouth and jumped up and down. “Dude, you play for the minors! Wait, what’s your name – no, hold up, I know this!” Stiles tapped his hands on his face. “Tacoma…Tacoma…Derek…Meridian – no, he plays for Sacramento. Derek—Derek Hale. Short stop. You’re Derek Hale! Derek Hale!”

 

“Damn. I’m impressed.”

 

“Fuck yeah! Man, the Pacific Coast League is awesome. My dad and I go up to Fresno to see the Fresno Grizzlies, we have season tickets. I’ve seen you play! Dude, this season you averaged like .260, it’s not bad but you’ve had better seasons.”

 

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Story of my life.”

 

“No, no, you’re good! Really good. Really, really good,” he said, laughing nervously. “Is it weird if I ask for your autograph?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

Derek chuckled, tossing some nuts into his mouth. “So what do you do around here for fun? Besides hang out here.”

 

“I’m in my last year at University of San Francisco, so it’s all keggers and beer stands and working in a bar,” he said, laughing. “Then I graduate in May and start looking for a real job.”

 

“What’re you—“

 

“Stiles! Are you ever going to take our drink order or just flirt with the mega hot newbie all night?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he yelled over his shoulder. He grinned at Derek. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.”

 

He jogged over to the two women holding court at their usual Wednesday night booth. “Glory. Willow. What will it be? The usual?”

 

“Duh,” Glory said, rolling her eyes and flipping her curly blonde hair over her shoulder.

 

“Two Long Island Iced Teas and two Cosmos, coming right up!”

 

“And we’d really love some of your famous nachos,” Willow called after him.

 

“Sure, sure,” he said, going back to the bar and putting the drinks together. He pushed the swinging doors to the kitchen to make his famous nacho cheese and chips dish, made a second plate for Derek, and brought the tray of food and drinks to the ladies.

 

He ran around the bar to take care of the other two regulars, giving them two pitchers of their favorite beers, and pretty much just tossing them two bags of pretzels.

 

“And don’t play those sad songs on the jukebox all night long,” he called out to his patrons.

 

They booed him and Stiles laughed, going back into the kitchen to get the plate of nachos and bottled water, heading back to Derek. He set the plate in front of him.

 

“My specialty, try some,” he said, taking a bunch of warm chips and shoving them into his mouth.

 

Derek stared at him and ate some of the nachos slowly, nodding at him. “They’re good. Thanks.”

 

Stiles leaned against the counter, opening his bottle of water. “How long are you in town? Where are you staying?”

 

“You really like to get to the personal questions, don’t you?”

 

“Just because I ask them doesn’t mean that you have to answer them.”

 

“What’re you studying at school?”

 

“Forensic investigation,” he said, chuckling. “My dad’s the County Sheriff; and I grew up learning how to read case files and helping him on his investigations. Not that Beacon Hills has a lot of crime. It’s kind of dull, I guess, but whenever my dad got a case, I’d read all of his files.”

 

“Isn’t that illegal?”

 

“If you won’t tell, I won’t,” he said, winking at Derek. “So, how long are you in town? Where are you staying? Hey, are you at the Beacon Hills Motel? That place is a fleabag, man, you can do better.”

 

“I haven’t gotten a place yet,” he said, chuckling. “I was driving through Main Street and saw the bar, thought I’d stop and get a couple of drinks, check out the locals…” He looked around the dead bar and smirked at Stiles. “So if not the Beacon Hills Motel, where would you recommend I stay?”

 

“You can always crash at my place.”

 

Derek raised his eyebrow. “Really.”

 

“Not like that, man! What kind of boy do you think I am?” He let out a nervous laugh; he really wasn’t actually trying to proposition him. Not really. “Ha ha ha ha! I just meant, you know, from a ball player to a fan of ball players—“ Derek’s other eyebrow went up. “—shut up! It’s not creepy.”

 

“It’s all right, Stiles, but thanks for the offer.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, better to be safe than sorry. You just never know what kind of weirdo…yeah, never mind, that didn’t come out the way I planned either.”

 

Derek stared at him and then started laughing, long and loud, throwing back his head. Stiles laughed with him, watching as his handsome, bearded face changed into something really beautiful.

 

“You know, thanks, Stiles. I really needed that.”

 

“I aim to please,” he said, smiling.

 

“So what time does the bar close anyway?”

 

Stiles smiled, shrugging. “In a couple of hours; the four of them come every Wednesday night. Those two women, they’ve been friends for a long time. They lead really different lives, but they made a promise to meet at least once a week to catch up. And those two older guys over there, they’re retired from the Sheriff’s Department, but they still meet up on Wednesday nights to talk about their cold cases, try to see if they can resolve any of them. They won’t stay too long, which is why I didn’t put up too much of a fight when Boyd asked me to take the Wednesday night slot. He could’ve easily closed the bar for the night, but we keep the place open for the four of them.”

 

Derek finished his beer, nodding. “That’s really cool.”

 

“Why? Did you have something in mind for later?” Stiles said, wiggling his eyebrows at Derek.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Stiles grabbed a new glass and filled it with the beer from the tap, sliding it to Derek. “If you want to hang out with me for another hour or so, then yeah, maybe we can get something to eat.”

 

Derek tossed some more peanuts into his mouth. “All right. Why don’t you turn on the TV for me and maybe we can catch a game?”

 

“Sure, yeah,” he said, grabbing the remote by the register and turning on the television. He leaned against the counter as he clicked through the sports channels. “What’re you in the mood for? Baseball? Hockey? Basketball?”

 

“Hey, hold up, is that Lacrosse?”

 

“Yep,” he said, looking over at Derek. “So yeah?”

 

“Let’s watch it for a few minutes and see what else is on,” he said, agreeably.

 

Stiles smiled, getting comfortable against the counter, both of them eating the nachos and watching the game on the screen in companionable silence.

 

***

 

It was around 11 PM when his patrons paid their bills and started heading out of the bar. Stiles cleaned up the tables, moving chairs up on the tables, and swept the floors. He washed the dirty dishes and glasses, setting them to dry, locked the cash and receipts in the office safe, double checked the back door and set the alarm.

 

Derek was leaning against his black Camaro while Stiles locked the front door of the bar, pulling down the metal gate and locking that, too.

 

“So did you want to get something to eat first?”

 

“Want to go for a short ride to Fresno? I think you’ll like this,” Derek suggested, smiling at him.

 

“You’re not planning to take me somewhere and rip my throat out or anything?”

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “No.”

 

Stiles waited for his internal alarms to go off, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like Derek was going to hurt him. So he nodded and got into the passenger side as Derek slipped behind the steering wheel.

 

“So what’s in Fresno?”

 

“Chukchansi Park.”

 

“Yeah, and it’s closed?”

 

Derek chuckled, pulling the car out onto Main Street. “Yeah, but I have the keys to paradise.”

 

Stiles laughed. “No way! No fucking way!”

 

“Ever wanted to run the bases?”

 

“Ohmygod, yes!”

 

***

 

Stiles couldn’t believe that he was walking on the field of Chukchansi Park. He held out his arms and spun around. “Ohmygod, I can’t believe this!”

 

Derek laughed, jogging towards him. “Come on, run the bases.”

 

Stiles let out a loud whoop and headed for home base. Derek was already running down the lane towards First and Stiles stood at home plate, digging in his feet, arms posed in the air as he faced down an invisible pitcher.

 

“Snap! And it’s out of the park, ladies and gentlemen!” Stiles yelled, hollering as he started running for First base. “Stiles Stilinski has just hit his 100th home run for the season! The crowd goes wild! Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

 

He turned and made his way to Second.

 

“This is simply an amazing season, ladies and gentlemen! Stilinski wins the World Series for the Mets!”

 

He headed for Third.

 

Stiles raised his hands into the air, blowing kisses to the people in the stands as they cheered for him, thunderous in their adoration.

 

He put in extra speed as he headed for Home base. Derek was crouched down like a Catcher, smiling maniacally as Stiles ran right for him.

 

They laughed as Derek caught him, picking him up at the hips and spinning him around.

 

“Everybody is on their feet! We’ve never seen anything like this in the history of baseball, ladies and gentlemen!” Stiles shouted, holding his arms in the air, victorious.

 

Derek laughed, settling him down on his feet. “I see that you have your own baseball fantasy.”

 

“Don’t tell me that you don’t either,” he said, catching his breath, his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Ohmygod, this was so fucking awesome, man, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

 

He smiled at Derek, breathing heavily. He gasped as Derek started to lean in close to him, slow, taking his time, waiting for Stiles.

 

Stiles moved towards him and pressed his lips against Derek’s mouth. He whimpered when Derek kissed him, brushing his cheek with his beard, pulling him in close. Stiles stared at him, awed and hopeful.

 

_“Happy birthday, Stiles.”_


	2. The Double Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek & Petopher 
> 
> For Anon, who asked for a Sterek and Petopher double date, where werewolves are known.

“Quit flirting with my mate,” Derek growled at Peter, his eyes flashing a brilliant blue.

 

Peter chuckled, more amused than anything else. There was nothing about Derek’s werewolf that threatened Peter’s position in the pack. While he enjoyed flirting and teasing Stiles, he didn’t actually desire the young man, which Derek knew intellectually, but everything felt like an _infringement_ during a long courtship. There was a quality about Stiles that Peter wanted in his playmates, but in this case, Peter was all bark and no bite. He wouldn’t dare; he knew how strong the bond was between his nephew and the human. But he clearly enjoyed riling his nephew every chance he had, it was fun to see Derek flash his Beta eyes and show his fangs.

 

“He’s not your mate yet; he’s your Intended. And we all know that an engagement during this phase of the courtship is… _flexible_.”

 

“How can you make that sound dirty? I mean, how is that even possible?” Stiles complained, shaking his head.

 

“It’s a gift,” Peter said, smiling.

 

“It’s a curse,” Chris said, raising his eyebrow.

 

“I’m sure that Stiles will be quite flexible—“

 

Derek growled, the tone rising in his jealousy, and he leaned aggressively across the table towards Peter but stopped when Chris’s hand tapped the table in warning. For a moment, Peter wondered if Derek would have actually tried to rip his claws into Peter’s throat.  

 

“A little decorum, please,” Chris said, softly.

 

“Yes, nephew—“

 

“You, too, Peter. I would like for us to not be banned from _another_ restaurant.”

 

He gave Peter a dirty look and Peter returned one that was all innocence.

 

Derek smirked, sitting back in his chair as Peter rolled his eyes slowly.

 

“Why are we even doing this? This is so stupid,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He tugged at his collar, pulling down the knot of his tie. Peter frowned at him and Stiles stopped, letting out an exasperated sigh.

 

“We promised your father that we would chaperone the two of you until your 18th birthday,” Chris said, evenly. He gave Derek a warning look, blue eyes narrowing in his handsome face.

 

Stiles smirked, waving his hand at Peter. “I think **he’s** the one that needs a chaperone more than the two of us. Besides, Derek and I have decided to wait until the first full moon after I turn 18.”

 

Peter regarded them thoughtfully. “That will make Derek’s claim even stronger.”

 

He could imagine only too well how passionate and uninhibited a first time full moon mating and claiming could go. After all, when he and Chris finally came together, they had decided to wait for the full moon, too. Neither of them was young anymore and it wasn’t their first time by any measure of the word, but the instinct to have and to take and to give was exponentially powerful. Peter remembered howling and chasing Chris through the Preserves; and Chris was so clever and so good that night, leading Peter on a long chase until Peter caught him.

 

Chris must’ve been thinking about the same thing. “You’re in for a very long night.”

 

Peter winked at his mate.

 

Stiles blushed slightly as he turned to grin shyly at Derek.

 

“We know,” Derek said, haughtily. He smirked at Peter and placed his hand behind Stiles’s neck, caressing him gently.

 

“ _Hmmmmm_ …that’s nice,” Stiles murmured, closing his eyes as he tilted his head for Derek, offering his neck in submission.

 

Peter let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. He turned to Chris with a small pout. “Why don’t you do that to me anymore? Have we lost our romance?”

 

“Awwww…sucks to be you,” Stiles said, laughing at Peter.

 

Chris placed his hand on Peter’s thigh, squeezing the thick muscle. Peter bit back a groan and smiled at his mate, eyes dropping to Chris’s mouth. Maybe he could lure his mate into the restroom for—

 

“Absolutely not,” Chris said, chuckling throatily.

 

“No?” Peter teased, grinning.

 

“Later,” he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against Peter’s ear. “If you’re a good boy.”

 

Peter gave a smug look to Derek and Stiles, who wore matching expressions of horror.

 

“Gross,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “Can you keep your weird kinky sex life to yourselves?”

 

“Jealous?” Peter said, chuckling.

 

Derek growled again and Stiles turned away, but not before Peter caught the look of envy and repressed longing flick across Stiles’s face before he carefully hid it from Derek. He realized that it was Derek who had asked Stiles to wait; that if given the choice, Stiles would welcome Derek to his bed at any time. He’d probably do it in front of an audience if Derek said yes. Peter felt a moment of compassion for the human; as a teenager, his hormones were already running havoc through his body, but to be paired with a strong and virile Beta like Derek, there was no doubt that Stiles felt arousal and desire and aggression on a whole different level. He admired the young man for **_his_** control.

 

“Do we really have to double date with them?” Stiles asked Derek. “Your uncle creeps me out.”

 

“It’s okay, he creeps me out, too. You get used to it.”

 

Chris snickered, trying to hide it with a polite cough. Peter narrowed his eyes at his mate. He would make Chris pay for that later. _Oh yes he would_ ; he would pay a handsome price for that.

 

“But if we want to go on dates together? Yes. He’s my nearest family member and my Alpha,” Derek said, grimacing at Peter. “He’s not chaperoning us because of you, it’s because of me.”

 

“It’s our tradition,” Peter said, simply. “Derek is my heir; if his mother was still alive, you’d have to attend all of your dates with both of his parents. And Talia was a bit of a mother hen when it came to her favorite son.”

 

“She loved me, though, right from the start,” Chris said, fondly.

 

Peter rolled her eyes. “She loved you more than she loved me so what else is new?”

 

Chris laughed, taking Peter’s hand and kissing it. “She was ecstatic that you finally settled down.”

 

“And with an Argent hunter no less,” he said, rolling his eyes.

 

“No less,” Chris said, smiling into his eyes.

 

Stiles made gagging noises as Derek scowled at them.

 

“I think you’re right, they do need chaperones,” Derek said to Stiles.

 

Peter laughed, leaning over to Chris and giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.


	3. For Your Pleasure and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petopher, phone sex
> 
> For tardisandwings, who asked for Chris's guilty pleasure of calling a sex line for Peter's voice.

_Of course,_ Chris should have recognized that voice.

He should’ve called the number to a therapist instead of a phone sex line. He was drunk and he was about to start crying while standing at the urinal in the men’s room of a club the next town over. He stared at the simple black and white business card tucked into the crevice between the urinal and the wall, and took the card with him to his truck.

**For Your Pleasure and Mine**

**888-555-6923**

He sat inside the dark safety of his truck and looked at the card, pulling out his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He dialed the number and listened as it rang three times.

An automated voice came on: _Please enter your credit card number followed by the # sign._

Chris tapped the numerical screen on his phone, typing in the account number and expiration date to one of his untraceable accounts.

_Press 1 if you would like to speak to a woman._

_Press 2 if you would like to speak to a man._

He briefly considered pressing 1, but it wasn’t a woman’s voice that he wanted to hear. Not now; not while he was still so raw over the destruction of his family.

He pressed 2.

The line beeped and then rang three times.

“Your pleasure and mine. This is Ian.”

“You can call me David,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest.

The man chuckled, low and throaty. “All right. _David._ So what do you want tonight?”

“I just want to get off. The faster, the better.”

Chris undid his jeans and pulled down the zipper. He reached into his briefs and curled his hand around his cock.

“You want it fast and dirty? That’s how I like it, too,” Ian said, amusement threading through his voice. “I bet you already have your cock out. Are you hard?”

Chris swallowed, stroking his cock. “It’s getting there. Keep talking. Tell me how you’re going to suck me off.”

“Are you cut?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d start by licking around the head, getting it wet with my tongue, tasting you,” Ian murmured, taking a deep breath and letting it out. Chris ran his thumb over the tip, wetting it with his pre-come. “I’d say, _hmmmm you taste good, baby,_ and lick you again. But since you want it fast and dirty, I wouldn’t tease you, not this time. I’d get my mouth right on you, get you wet and hard, trace my tongue around and around, and flick that little spot under the head that makes your thighs tremble.”

Chris groaned, his fingers moving over the head of his cock, pressing the pad of his thumb against the bundle of nerves, rubbing it. “Yeah. Go on.”

“You like to watch,” he said, softly. “You like holding my hair, holding my head still while you fuck my mouth. I like it, too.”

 _Jesus,_ he was hitting Chris’s buttons. He moaned, squeezing his cock hard and stroking the head.

“You like shoving your cock all the way into my mouth, deep into my throat. You like it that you make me gag,” he said, breathless.

Chris bit his lip and stroked his hand down the shaft. It didn’t give him the friction he needed, so he spit into his hand, a whimper escaping as he stroked the wetness down his flesh.

“Yeah, I heard that, you like a wet slide, don’t you? Like it when you make me take all of you, all the way down, gagging hard and drooling on your cock, down my chin,” the man said, letting out a soft grunt.

“Fuck,” Chris whispered, arching into his strokes now, fast and hard, palm curling around the head.

“And then I’d grab your wrists, hold you down because this is my show, baby. You can fuck my mouth all you want, but if you want to come, you have to do it my way—“

“Yeah—“

“—and I want to hear you beg for it. Are you close? Beg me for it, baby. Let me hear you,” Ian cajoled, softly, right into his ear and straight down into his balls.

Chris could feel them tighten, feel the shivers starting in his belly, his hand wet now because he was leaking at the tip, so close, so fucking close—

“Fuck! Let me come. Please. Fucking keep sucking me, do it!”

“Come on, darling, let me hear you. I want to taste you while you come into my mouth. Come on, do it now. Grab my hair and push it in deep, let me have you, come for me—“

“Oh fuck, fuck, yeah,” Chris grunted, feet braced against the floor boards, thrusting his cock into his hand, letting out a long, drawn out groan of pleasure as he came, dribbling over his fingers. “Fuck.”

Ian chuckled. “That sounded good; sounded like you came pretty hard.”

Chris panted, looking down at his lap to see his hand covered in come, cock red and still a little hard pressing against his belly. He looked around, trying to find a paper napkin or something to clean his hand on.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“Lick it off, baby,” Ian whispered, an edge of power in his voice. “I want to hear you, sucking your come off your fingers.”

Chris inhaled sharply, putting two fingers into his mouth and tasting the familiar bitter-metallic taste. He groaned, falling against his seat. Victoria liked taking charge in bed; teasing him and holding him down, her eyes glinting with pleasure. She always kissed him after sucking him off, pushing his come into his mouth, sharing his taste.

 _You’re such a dirty boy, Chris,_ she used to tell him. 

 _If I had a cock, all I would ever want to do was keep you chained in my bed and fuck you until we both passed out,_ she used to say.

 _I love the taste of you, baby,_ she used to whisper in his ear.

“ _Mmmm_ …I bet you taste good,” Ian whispered, voice edged with something.

Chris choked back his loud gasp, eyes watering.

“David, are you all right?”

He fought back the memories and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Listen, thanks, um, Ian. Is there…what’s the protocol for this?”

“When you end the call, your credit card will be billed for the length of time of your visit,” he said, simply and professionally. “Call me again. Whenever you need.”

Chris barely mumbled his thanks and ended the call, tossing his phone into the passenger seat. He wiped his hand on his shirt and arranged his clothes, zipping and buttoning back up. He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and pressed his forehead against the back of his hands, trying to catch his breath, pushing his memories of Victoria back into the special box that he created just for her. His memory was filled with multiple boxes – of his dad, his mom, Kate…Ally.

He didn’t have the luxury of self-pity; not now, anyway. There was too much going on in Beacon Hills for him to let his grief get the best of him. He sat up and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, easing his mind of his emotions, imagining moving through his katas.

His phone pinged and he picked it up, looking at the text message from Scott.

_Kate’s alive. Back in Beacon Hills. Need your help._

Chris stared at the text message and swallowed. _Kate’s alive._ How was that even possible? They had buried her; wrapped her body in Wolfsbane, just in case the Alpha had turned her before she died.

_Kate’s alive._

He started the engine of his truck and headed back to town.


	4. In Which Stiles is in a Rut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Derek (off side Stiles/Malia established relationship)
> 
> Warning: CRACKFIC! OMG so much crackfic! LOL! 
> 
> For Mulder200 who asked: If you are still taking prompts, how about a Derek/Stiles first time heat (or for males rut) where Stiles discovers he's not quite as human as he thought. Cue Derek who is more than willing to help him out/ Knotting would be a plus. 
> 
> Author’s Note: To Mulder200 who gave me this lovely prompt – I’m sorry, it’s probably not what you were looking for LOL! I promise that for the other prompt that you gave me in my Ask, I will approach it in a far more mature and sexytimes manner.

**Beacon Hills Animal Clinic**

 

Malia: Fix him. He won’t stop trying to mate with me.

Stiles: No. No! There is no “fixing”! Also, don’t ever ask a vet to “fix” me, Malia! I’m just a horny teenager—

Peter: Excuse me, you are talking about my daughter.

Stiles: Excuse me, you only met her a month ago.

Scott: Guys, not helping--

Peter: Excuse me, you completely took advantage of her lack of human socialization.

Malia: Excuse me, I survived in the woods alone for years! And I can speak for myself!

*dramatic pause*  

*Lydia and Kira nod in agreement*

Deaton: Would someone _else_ please tell me what is going on?

Chris: Alan, Stiles is exhibiting signs that he’s going into a rut.

Scott: What’s a rut?

Peter: It’s like heat but for uncastrated males.

Scott: *he’s sorry he even asked*

Deaton: That’s intriguing. Has it followed the seasonal rutting period of any particular animal?

Peter: From the way that he smells, I would say that he’s been in a rutting period for his entire teenage existence.

Everyone: Shut up, Peter.

Stiles: Okay, Doc, give it to me straight, I can take it.

Deaton: Do you feel a persistent need to rub yourself against everyone and everything?

Stiles: Yeah, sometimes, I guess so.

Malia: Six times today. And I saw him rubbing against his locker.

Lydia: Three times.

Kira: One time.

Scott: What? Stiles!

Stiles: Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, dude!

Peter: He rubbed against me two times today.

Derek: For the love of—

Stiles: Shut up, Peter!

Deaton: Do you have an urge to reproduce and spread your seed with every available and consenting living being?

Stiles: Sort of. But I feel like that’s normal and healthy for a teenage boy.

Deaton: Do you feel these urges during the day or in the evening?

Stiles: Mostly during the day…and at night.

Deaton: You’re going into a rut.

Stiles: What? That’s it? Aren’t you supposed to be the all-knowing Druid Emissary here? That’s the best you can come up with?

Deaton: I’ve always wondered why you were susceptible to the supernatural—

Stiles: Ohmygod, I’m a supernatural magnet, aren’t I?

Deaton: --and I thought that your Spark would lead you to become Scott’s Emissary.

Stiles: Yep. I got this, Scott.

Scott: You totally do.

Deaton: However, your Spark has started to change. Your power hasn’t weakened, in fact, I think that your Spark is at its peak strength. But it is bringing out a new element inside of you. Quite possibly because you’ve spent so much time with supernatural beings.

Stiles: I’m going to die, aren’t I?

Deaton: I think you’re exhibiting traits as…well…a weresheep.

Stiles: A what!

Scott: A what?

Derek: *thoughtful* Ohhhh…

Peter: It’s a mythological creature. Very rare. And very prized in certain circles. Right, Christopher?

Chris: Shut up, Peter.

Stiles: I’m…I’m a sheep? A fluffy white defenseless sheep that goes ‘baaaaaa’ and gets eaten by EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PREDATOR OUT THERE!

Scott: Don’t worry, Stiles, we won’t let anything happen to you.

Stiles: *gives Scott a dirty look*

Malia: That explains so much about why I want to bite him and eat him.  

Stiles: Wha—what? You want to eat me?

Malia: Especially when we have sex. Which is often.

Stiles: Whoa, honey, we don’t talk about our private business with other people.

Deaton: How often?

Stiles: No—

Malia: Every day. He likes mating a lot.

Derek: You—you have sex every day?

Peter: It doesn’t surprise—

Stiles: Shut up, Peter! Ohmygod…

Malia: You smell _really_ good, Stiles.

Peter: I’ve always thought so, too.

Stiles: Gross. Dude, I’m with your daughter. It’s kind of gross that you’re hitting on me.

Peter: Well, to be fair, I did meet you first.

Malia: Oh, we can share, I don’t mind.

Stiles: Um…Derek? Can you control your family of perverts?

Derek: Uhh…

Chris: He needs to be knotted.

Stiles: Wait, who needs to be knotted?

Peter: You, my dear boy, need to be fucked to an inch of your life with a nice, thick werewolf cock.

Everyone: *makes grossed out noises*

Stiles: Uhhh…

Deaton: Peter is crude, but he’s not wrong.

Stiles: Can’t I just, you know, with my girlfriend?

Malia: I don’t mind taking a break.

Peter: I’m more than happy to assist in this matter.

Malia: Okay, dad, if you think that’s best.

Stiles: No! No, hell fucking no! NO! N-O! I’m not consenting with Peter! I’ll just…take care of it myself.

Deaton: Stiles, I don’t wish to put this on your shoulders, but you won’t be able to break your rut alone.  

Chris: Derek, I know that the last thing you want to do is have sex with Stiles—

Stiles: Thanks a lot, Argent.

Chris: --but I think we can all agree that it has to be you.

*everyone turns to look at Derek*

Stiles: Why can’t Scott do it?

Scott: What? Me?

Stiles: He’s a ‘True Alpha’ and he’s got a knot.

Scott: I, uh, actually don’t?

Stiles: Hold up, you don’t have a knot? You’re an Alpha, you should have a knot? Are you defective?

Deaton: Scott won’t develop a knot until he’s eighteen.

*Lydia whispers something to Kira*

*Kira blushes*

Malia: Stiles, you should mate with Derek. I’m sure he has a big knot.

Chris: *under his breath* _I bet._

*Peter growls at Chris*

*Derek blushes*

Derek: Okay.

Stiles: Okay? What do you mean “okay”?

Derek: That I’ll do it. *pauses* And I do have a big knot. It’s really big.

*Peter rolls his eyes*

Stiles: But—but Malia?

Malia: It’s okay, Stiles, we’ll keep it in the family.

*Peter beams proudly at her*

Stiles: Ohmygod, Malia, I told you not to spend time with him. We told you that he’s Satan in a V-neck.

Malia: But I kind of like him. He’s crazy and brutally honest and likes to wear V-necks. And I’m kind of crazy and brutally honest and I like to wear short shorts. We bonded when he took me shopping at Macy’s.

Peter: I’m just proud that you have excellent fashion sense.

*Kira nods*

Lydia: *bored* Look, you guys take care of this, the girls and I are going to shopping and then watching ‘The Notebook’ at my house.

*Kira and Malia nod in agreement*

Stiles: My life is so fucked up.

Scott: I’m there for you, bro.

Stiles: *gives him a dirty look* Some ‘True Alpha’ you turned out to be.

Scott: Sorry, Stiles.

Stiles: Fine. Okay, you know what, fine. Let’s get this over with. Come on, KnotWolf, let’s go to the loft. Everyone keep away for the next 24 hours or whatever. Just, don’t come to the loft under any circumstance. That means you, Peter.

Peter: You ruin all my fun, Stiles.

Derek: *gulps*

 

**52 hours later…**

 

Stiles: Okay, I think that last one did it. I’m pretty sure my ass is done. I think it’s over now. I think that the rutting is finished. I mean, I don’t think my balls has any more semen in them, you got it all. All over your bed, I mean. You’re going to need to burn your sheets. Like, my scent will never leave your bed, it’s embedded in there. I can totally smell it and I don’t even have wolfie senses. Well, I have sheep senses. Did you want to eat me, too? That’s kind of screwed up, right? Ugh, seriously, it reeks in here. I’ll totally buy you a new mattress from Costco. I mean, everything doesn’t tingle now? So I’m pretty sure it’s over. Your knot was really big, like I didn’t think it would fit, but it totally fit. Remember that? “This no fit.” But it did fit! Ohhhh, yeah, it totally fit.

Derek: *exhausted* Shut up, Stiles.

Stiles: Oh, okay. I mean, this isn’t going to be weird, right? I mean, I’m totally dating your cousin and everything. It’s not weird. You only did it save my life. Which, thank you, by the way, in case I didn’t say it before.

Derek: You were busy screaming to God.

Stiles: Yeah, Malia says that I’m pretty loud like that.

Derek: Stiles?

Stiles: Yeah?

Stiles: Please shut up and go to sleep now.

Stiles: Oh. Okay, yeah, sure.

*Stiles grins stupidly up at the ceiling*

*Derek passes out*


	5. The Boy with the Fluffy Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles/Peter, Steter
> 
> Crackfic! In which Stiles wakes up one day, post-Void mess, with cute little nogitsune ears and a fluffy tail.
> 
> Warning: Is it underage bestiality if Stiles (age 17) is half fox and Peter is all wolf? HAHA! No, Peter isn’t a wolf when he fucks Stiles (but he probably wishes he was *coughs*)…but Stiles has little fox ears and a tail. OK, I’m warning for underage bestiality, just to be on the safe side.

 

“Ohmygod I can’t believe this!” Stiles jumped onto the metal table in the animal clinic. He let out a pitiful sounding whimper when he sat on his very fluffy tail. “Ow, damn this stupid thing!” He took a deep breath and let his feet dangle over the side. “Come on, Deaton, you’ve got to be able to fix this. You can fix everything.”

Deaton gave him a kind grin. “I appreciate the faith that you have in me, Stiles, but sometimes, some things that are in nature shouldn’t be fixed.”

Stiles gave him a look. “Oh don’t tell me that this is a normal part of nature.” He waved his hand over himself and rolled his eyes.

“But you’re so cute, Stiles,” Kira said, trying to be helpful. “So…huggable. And soft looking. Can I touch—“

“NO!” Stiles let out a growl, which even to his ears sounded kind of like a kitten. He grabbed his tail protectively, shielding it from her touch. “No petting. And that’s not being helpful!”

“Don’t growl at her, man, she’s just trying to be nice,” Scott said, putting his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles hissed and pulled his shoulder from Scott’s hand.

“Whoa! Okay, okay, no touching, I got it.”

Deaton sighed, his hand curled under his chin, as he stared at Stiles’s new fluffy black ears and his new fluffy black tail. “I believe it’s a reaction to the nogitsune spirit; when Scott expelled the Void spirit, it left behind a very small piece of itself in you.”

“Great, I’m part evil dark fox. Fantastic.”

He flicked his ears and reached up to scratch behind one of them. He closed his eyes and let out a happy little groan, his right foot wiggling in delight. “Ahhh…that’s the spot. That’s the _spot_!”

“Ohmygosh, that’s just too cute, I can’t stand it,” Kira said, in awe.

Deaton shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that you’re evil, per se, but you should be monitored until we can learn more about your condition.”

Stiles shook his head. “My condition. Hah.”

“You can take a couple of days off school, your dad would back you up and we can get all of your homework from your teachers for you,” Scott said, reaching out to touch him again.

Stiles gave him a warning growl, which sounded more like a high pitched whine than an actual growl. Scott gave him an apologetic smile.

“You shouldn’t be alone. I’ve called Derek and Peter to be your temporary keepers while I make some inquiries,” Deaton told him.

“No, no, come on, not them,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I don’t want anyone else to see me like this—“

“What happened to Stiles? We came as fast as we could,” Derek said, storming into the clinic room. He skidded to a stop as he stared at Stiles, his mouth open, eyebrows rising in shock. “Uhh…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a fox, get over it,” he said, blandly. His ears flicked twice, his tail started to wag. He grabbed it with both hands, trying to keep it from moving. “What the hell is wrong with this thing? It’s like it has a mind of its own.”

Derek swallowed. “Tail…”

“What smells absolutely delectable in here?” Peter said, strolling into the room, hands tucked into his jacket. He stopped, blinked once, and stared at Stiles. “Oh. _Oh my_. Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Oh god, this is going to be so bad. You can’t honestly leave me with the two of them. Look at them! Derek is non-functioning and Peter is—“

“I’ve always wanted to _play_ with a pet fox,” Peter said, smiling widely.

“Gag,” Stiles said, frowning.

Peter smirked. “Yes, you probably would.”

“What—“

Scott flashed his red Alpha eyes at Peter. “Don’t even think about hurting him, Peter.”

“Why on earth would I hurt him?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, your track record speaks for itself, right?”

“Listen, dear boy, my murderous ways are behind me,” Peter said, silkily. He leaned against the edge of the metal table, looking up at Stiles’s ears. Stiles felt his tail jerk out of his grasp, the tip flicking playfully at Peter’s nose.

“Ohmygod, stop it, will you! We don’t like him!”

Peter raised his eyebrow and Stiles grabbed his tail, shoving it under his leg.

“Behave yourself!” Stiles yelled at his tail. “Just ignore it, okay? Don’t think that it likes you or anything like that. It’s just…excitable, that’s all.”

“Of course, Stiles. I’ll be the picture of a perfect gentleman.”

Peter ran his fingers through the fur and Stiles gasped, sitting up straight, an intense zing of pleasure blasting behind his eyes, all the way to his gut and into his balls.

“Bad touch! BAD TOUCH!”

Derek chuffed out a laugh/cough, grabbing Peter by the arm and pulling him away.

“Gentlemen. Stiles is need of monitoring. I’m fairly certain that his condition is temporary, but I don’t know for how long it will last. In the meantime, I feel very strongly that Stiles should be with the both of you. He needs anchoring; and of all the other members of this pack, the two of you have the most freedom in terms of privacy and time.”

Derek took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. We’ll take care of him. Come on, Stiles, we’ll take you to your house to pack up whatever you need. Someone needs to tell the Sheriff.”

Stiles looked at Deaton.

“Yes, of course, I’ll let your father know exactly what happened,” Deaton said, agreeably. “Don’t be too anxious, you won’t remain like this for long, I promise. Your Spark is too pure for it to allow any kind of darkness to stay within you for any length of time.”

“Thanks, Dr Deaton,” he said, taking a deep breath. He could feel his ears and his tail drooping unhappily.

***

After reassuring his dad that he was fine, both of them ignoring the new addition of fluffy ears on top of his head (and Stiles was not going to show his dad his tail), Stiles changed into his softest tee-shirt and his flannel pajama pants. Regular pants were too restricting and he could tuck the elastic waistband of his pajamas under the base of the tail, giving it more room.

Peter had gone out to pick up their dinner.

“I need curly fries,” Stiles said, morosely.

“Anything for our little pet fox,” Peter said, chuckling as he left the loft.

Stiles threw one of his sneakers at Peter, bouncing off the door. “Don’t call me that, asshole!”

Derek sat in the armchair across from him. “It’ll be okay, Stiles.”

He looked up at the werewolf and shrugged. “Yeah, thanks, man.” He looked around the loft. “So, what do you do here for fun?”

“I work out, train, and read.”

“You don’t have a TV or anything?”

Derek sighed. “Peter has his laptop upstairs. He has a Netflix account.”

Stiles at up, his ears perked. “Really?”

“Go on, you can get it, but don’t go through his stuff. He’ll know.”

Stiles jumped off the couch and ran up the spiral staircase to the second floor. He had never been to the second floor of the loft and his deep curiosity for what was up there burst through his mind. He found himself in a hallway with four doors. Of course he opened each door and looked inside – bathroom, empty room, room that probably belonged to Isaac when he lived there, and Peter’s room.

He’d always wondered how Peter lived. When he stepped into Peter’s room, he reached for the light switch to turn on lights and found it to be a normal, neatly organized, and clean room. There was a king sized bed with a dark blue quilt and crisp white sheets. There were four plush looking pillows and Stiles grabbed one of the white ones, tucking it under his arm. There was a desk, a chair, a few books – Shakespeare’s _MacBeth_ (Stiles snorted, predictable) – and his MacBook.

Stiles unplugged it and tucked the Mac under his other arm and left the room without bothering to close the door.

***

After stuffing himself full with three servings of curly fries, two cheeseburgers, and a strawberry shake, Stiles passed out on the couch in the middle of watching the “Sherlock Holmes” movie. He woke up while Peter was carrying him up the spiral staircase and into Isaac’s room, putting him gently on the bed.

“What’re you doing, creeper?”

Peter chuckled, stroking his head and running his finger over the tip of one of his ears. Stiles hissed at him and snapped his teeth at Peter’s fingers, growling low.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” he said, pulling a quilt over him. “Unmolested.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, curling under the warm covers, his tail flicking in sleepy annoyance at Peter’s presence.

***

He woke up ravenously horny, one hand curled around his cock. He had kicked off the covers and his pajama pants in the middle of the night. No amount of stroking his cock alleviated the pressure in his balls. He fell off the bed in his haste to get up to go to the bathroom, whining softly to himself.

Something told him that it wasn’t going to be enough.

He could try to make it downstairs to Derek…but there was no guarantee that Derek would help him with this. After everything in his life, he thought Derek was not into sex at all.

But Peter…he was pretty sure that Peter was up for anything.

He made his way across the hall and opened Peter’s door, padding quietly across the room to look at the sleeping werewolf.

“You reek of sex,” Peter said, opening his bright blue eyes.

He tugged the hem of his tee-shirt over his cock. He hadn’t bothered to put on the pants, his tail swishing happily behind him.

“You smell like prey, Stiles. Do you know what does to me? It makes me want to grab you, hold you down on my bed, and fuck you like you need.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

Peter growled, grabbing Stiles by the arms and dragging him over Peter, kissing his mouth with teeth and tongue and a bit of fang. Stiles moaned against Peter’s mouth, fisting Peter’s hair with his hands.

“Come on, do it,” he begged, looking into Peter’s eyes.

Peter shoved him into the mattress and straddled the back of his thighs. His hands stroked through his tail and Stiles shivered. “Mmmm…this is definitely a fantasy come true for me, dear boy.”

“Quit molesting my tail and get on with it,” he hissed at the werewolf.

“I am surprised that you came to me. I thought you’d go to Derek,” Peter said, reaching towards his bedside table and opening the top drawer to pull out a tube of lube.

Stiles gripped the pillow with his hands and bit it. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Are you quite certain?”

Peter popped the top and squeezed a large drop in the middle of Stiles’s back.

“Rude! It’s cold!”

“It won’t be for long,” he said, swiping his fingers through the wetness and then pressing two fingers against his hole, pushing in gently.

Stiles muffled his groans into the pillow. “Ohmygod!”

Peter grabbed his tail and stroked it with his other hand, holding it flat against Stiles’s back. “Just relax and remember to breathe.”

He felt the wet heat of Peter’s cock against his hole, breaching him slowly. Stiles panted through it, arching under Peter and swiveling his hips, then rubbing his cock against the sheets.

“Yes, that’s very good, Stiles, very good,” Peter murmured, thrusting into him hard.

“Oh fuck!” Stiles blurted out, letting go of the pillow. “Scratch behind my ears, you jerk!”

Peter licked the back of his neck and laughed. “My pleasure.”

Stiles closed his eyes and let out a long wail of pleasure, his body completely wired for pleasure. Scratches behind his little fox ears, his tail trapped between his back and Peter’s belly, his cock getting the right kind of friction, and a hard cock pushing into him at a fast pace. Peter wasn’t in it just for Stiles’s pleasure, he was chasing after his own, too.

“You better make me come or—or—ohmygod yes! Yes, you freaking asshole jerkface! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Stiles shouted hoarsely, giving over to every sensation with greedy teenage hormones.

Peter groaned against his neck and then nipped him with blunt teeth. He chuckled, dropping his weight carefully on Stiles’s back, holding him down.

“Get off,” he  complained, into the pillow.

“Mmmm…if you give me a few minutes, we can go again,” Peter said, scratching behind Stiles’s fox ear.

“Ohhhhhh…” he whimpered, feeling his right foot fluttering against the sheets. “Yeah, that’s the spot. That’s the spot! Right there, goddamn it!”

Stiles let out a pleased sigh, sinking into the warmth of Peter’s body and the bed. “Yeah…”

“Well, let’s see if we can make you scream my name this time.”

Stiles’s eyes opened and he stared sightlessly at the headboard as Peter’s hard cock started moving in and out of him again. “Ohmygod…ohmygod…Peter…Peter…”

***

When Stiles limped down the spiral staircase the next morning, leaving Peter to sleep out his hedonistic and slightly sadistic night of endless fucking – good god, who knew the old werewolf had it in him – Derek was puttering around in the kitchen making breakfast. Stiles groaned when he smelled coffee brewing and he sat down blearily on a stool. He hissed out a soft wince, moving so that he wasn’t putting more pressure in that sensitive area.

“Coffee please?”

“Okay.” Derek looked at him and then looked again. “You’ve changed back.”

“I have?” Stiles reached up to touch his head, not feeling his furry ears anymore. He turned around and checked his back. His tail was gone, too. “Ohmygod, I’m back to normal?”

Derek poured him a cup of coffee with a spoon in it and pushed the creamer and sugar set towards him. “Looks like you just needed…help.”

Stiles blushed, not looking at Derek. “Uh, yeah. I guess so. I just hope it’s over now.”

“He was right, you know.”

Derek had his back to Stiles, turning the bacon in the pan.

“What?”

“You could’ve come to me. I would’ve done anything to help you,” he said, turning slightly to look at Stiles.

Stiles blinked at him, speechless.

Derek sighed and turned back to look at the bacon. “You didn’t have to go to him.”

“For fuck’s sake, Derek! Why didn’t you tell me before? Jesus, it would’ve saved me the—the—the _things_ that I did with Peter last night!”

“You never asked.”

Stiles wanted to hurl his coffee cup at Derek’s head, but he really wanted his coffee. Instead, he curled his arms over his head and let out a deep breath. “Okay, for the record, the next time something like this happens to me, I’d rather have you help me out than anyone else. Okay? You got that now? Message received?”

“Message received,” he said, softly. He turned and gave Stiles a pretty smile. “To be honest, I really kind of miss the ears.”

Stiles grinned, biting his lip. “Really?”

“Yeah. They looked so soft. I used to have a little black cat when I was a kid. You kind of remind me of him.”

Stiles stared at Derek’s earnest face and then laughed. “Jesus, you totally suck, you know that? You have absolutely no game, do you? How did you ever get laid?”

Derek shrugged, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip. “I have a thing for ears.”

Stiles had nothing that he could say after that.

 

TBC…

Author’s note: There’s a Sterek sequel to this little ficlet! 


	6. Accords (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter/Chris 
> 
> Warnings: Punishment sex (in next part).
> 
> Based on this prompt: http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/94597389734

Peter watched as his two Beta enforcers pulled Christopher Argent into Peter’s private study. Chris looked exasperated, but Peter could hear the hunter’s heart racing. There were two reasons why the pack Alpha would drag a hunter into his den: (1) To gain a hunter’s services to hunt a rogue werewolf or (2) To kill the hunter. The hunter was too well trained to give himself away so easily, so Peter didn’t necessarily believe any of the physical signs that the hunter put out. Chris was unpredictable and played his cards close to his chest. Peter found him far too intriguing for his own peace of mind. It never ended well for a werewolf to be intrigued by a werewolf hunter.

“I can walk on my own,” Chris said, his voice low and stern.

Damian and Aaron, while young and hot-blooded, had the right combination of strength and intelligence, had proved loyal to Peter more times than he could count; and were exactingly thorough and strictly enforced Peter’s laws, but amusingly fair when it came to doling out punishments to either their own kind or to humans.

He had quite a soft spot for his two best enforcers. The reputation of a pack wasn’t based solely on its Alpha, but on its soldiers who commanded the Alpha’s power on his or her behalf. Peter was proud of his pack; he was certain that the Hale legacy was secured once again.

Chris didn’t struggle much as they brought him before Peter. He knew better than to try and fight or escape.

“Hale, what the hell is going on?” Chris husked, wincing as a strong, clawed hand grabbed his shoulder. Aaron wrestled Chris, keeping his grip firm as he brought Chris to his knees in front of the wide, oak desk.

Peter gave a small smile to his enforcers and nodded his gratitude. They took a step back, hands loose but claws still out, standing guard over the hunter. It was a smart thing to do; one could never underestimate an Argent. Many werewolves had learned this lesson the hard way. Chris Argent was no simple-minded hunter. He was as clever and as cunning as any other predator. Years ago, Peter had asked Chris if he wanted the bite and he respected Chris’s adamant refusal. He didn’t take it personally. But at times like this, he seriously wondered what would happen if he did bite the hunter without permission – if he would’ve ended up creating a monster he couldn’t control, a brilliant and well-trained hunter with all the strengths of a werewolf.

Hmmm…the thought was so appealing.

The Alpha regarded the hunter for a long moment – he was dressed casually in a gray tee-shirt and jeans, no customary leather jacket, no weapons on his person. His Betas must have grabbed Chris while he was at home. He wondered if the hunter felt naked without his usual accoutrements.

It was time to find out.

“Good evening, Christopher, thank you for coming to see me.”

Chris glared up at the two werewolves. “I didn’t have much choice in the matter since I was dragged out of my house in the middle of the night.” He turned and looked at Peter. “And when have I ever refused a meeting with you?” 

Peter nodded, leaning his elbows on his desk, hands curled under his chin. “I understand that it was inconvenient for you, and I apologize for that, but I do have important business to discuss. Unfortunately, this was an emergency and I couldn’t take the chance that you wouldn’t show. So please excuse my exuberance. I’m just waiting for one other person to join us and we can begin.”

Chris gave him a distrustful look, sitting back on his heels, hands curled into fists on his thighs. “What kind of business?”

Peter cocked his head and smiled. “When I took over the Beacon Hills territory, I allowed you to stay and held you to your Code. I trusted you to also keep our peace accord.”

“I’ve not broken the Code or our accord.”

Peter tapped his fingers against his chin. “No, you haven’t…ahhh, I believe my other guest has arrived.”

The doors opened and Peter watched as his Princep Beta, Scott McCall, escorted the young Allison Argent into the room. He gave Peter a dark and traitorous look, closing the door behind them. Peter flashed his red Alpha eyes at Scott, stopping only when Scott dropped his glance and tilted his head to the side in submission.

“She’s a hunter; you can’t place your transitory feelings for her before the needs of the pack,” Peter said to him.

Scott frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I love Allison. That’s never going to change.”

“Be very careful, dear boy. I will not abide any move against the pack. I would rather kill you by my own hand than allow you to bring that kind of destruction down on us,” Peter said, softly.

“Don’t threaten me, Peter,” Scott said, amber eyes glowing steadily at him. 

While disappointed in Scott’s stubbornness, a part of him would always have a special bond with the young man because he was Peter’s first Beta werewolf. He had already bitten Scott’s best friend, the delicious Stiles Stilinski, to pull Scott into line. Peter had accepted that there would be severe consequences in bringing Stiles over, but the intelligent young man took to being a werewolf with a gleeful intensity Peter had never seen before. He sometimes wished he’d bitten Stiles first so that he would have the pack status of Princep. Stiles was his Most Favored Beta and mating him to his nephew, Derek, was a genius move on Peter’s part. It had brought his Omega nephew back into the fold; and he was delighted by how happy Derek made Stiles.

Despite Peter’s many attempts at reaching out to him, Scott was oftentimes beyond control. He was glad Scott would attend this meeting. Peter had a feeling that he would be able to bring all of his wayward pack mates back into line.

“Dad? Dad, what’s going on?” Allison said, hurrying towards her father. “What did they do?”

“Why is she here?” Chris said, staring up at Peter.

Peter stood up and walked around his desk, stopping to lean against the edge in front of Chris. He placed his hands on the smooth, cool wood and took a deep breath.

“It’s come to my attention that an Argent was reaching out to other hunters, sharing information about Hale pack with them, helping them find a foothold into my territory,” he began, taking a deep breath. He met Chris’s gaze. “For the past few months, I believed it was you, Christopher. But tonight, I realized that I made a mistake. I believe you when you say that you’ve kept your Code and our accord. You would never taint your name to sell us out.” He turned to look at Allison. “Unfortunately, your daughter doesn’t honor promises made on the Argent name.”

Allison sneered. “Don’t believe him, dad, he’s a liar.”

“Keep a leash on her, Scott,” Peter hissed at his Princep. “Or I’ll muzzle her myself.”

Scott gritted his teeth, his hand curled around Allison’s arm and pulling her back.

“Peter, please, she’s just a girl, you can’t hold her accountable—“

“I can and I do,” he said, staring at Chris. “She is your heir and she stands as Matriarch to the Argent legacy. I know you, Christopher, I know you train her. She’s your legacy, your bloodline, she’ll carry your name and all that goes with being an Argent. I don’t fault you for that. You’re the Alpha of your own family and I respect that, I do.” He put his hand over his heart, frowning. “So I know you couldn’t turn away from that. And I know that Scott trains her, too.” He looked at his Princep Beta, eyes burning red again. “I have the proof if you need to assuage your own sense of responsibility for her.”

“Then I need to see it. All of it.”

“Of course. I would never accuse her if I weren’t absolutely certain,” Peter said, walking to his desk and picking up a thick folder. He handed it to Chris and sat down in one of the armchairs nearby, watching as Chris looked through every photograph, every secret message, every coded email, every piece of paper damning Allison Argent as a traitor to Hale pack.

“Those things can be faked,” Scott said, looking at Peter. “They could’ve been created so that you’d be forced to do something to hurt her. Because of me.”

Peter leaned back in the chair. “Oh? And would you accept the punishment that a traitor to the pack deserves? Take her punishment?”

“I can take my own punishment,” she said, standing tall. “I’m not afraid of you, Peter. You’re nothing but an animal, an abomination.”

“Tell me, darling, but is that how you feel about your boyfriend? He’s my First Beta. You can’t have forgotten that he’s a werewolf, too. An animal. An abomination.”

Peter was the only one who saw the look of shock on Scott’s handsome face; how quickly he hid it from her, standing by her. Peter knew that this day would come; that he would have to deal with Scott’s rebelliousness.

“He’s nothing like you.”

Peter smiled, sighing deeply. “Isn’t he? He brought you here tonight, knowing that I would confront you. Yet, he didn’t warn you, did he?”

“It’s because you make him submit to you,” Allison said, folding her hand into Scott’s. “He hates being a werewolf. You bit him against his will. He never wanted to be one of you in the first place.”

“Allison, be quiet,” Chris said, closing the folder and tossing it on top of Peter’s desk. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Peter. “What do you want?”

“Do you know what werewolves do to pack traitors? You must’ve heard the stories. The pack will take the traitor into the woods and they’ll take turns salvaging her until there’s nothing left except her bones,” he said, meeting Chris’s eyes.

“But what do you want?”

“I won’t take the life of your only child from you, Christopher,” he said, softly. “But she must leave Beacon Hills, a lifetime exile. She must give up her name and all of the privileges that goes with being an Argent. If she takes up the life of a hunter and she moves against Hale pack, her life is forfeit.”

“You can’t take my name away from me!” Allison shouted at him.

“Be quiet, Allison,” Chris said, raising his voice. “You broke the accord. You dishonored our name. There is nothing left for us now.” He stared up at his daughter, watching as her beautiful face twisted in agony, tears on her cheeks.

“Dad, don’t let him do this.”

“Do you think I can protect you from him?” He said, shakily. “If we don’t agree, he’ll let the pack kill you and that will destroy me.”

She broke away from Scott and fell to her knees, clinging to her father. Peter sighed, watching as Chris held her close, stroked her hair, and whispered soft words of comfort into her ear.

“You can go to Paris and be with our family there. They’ll take care of you,” Chris said, looking at her. “You can take your mother’s name – DeHavilland – it’s a proud name.”

“Dad, come with me. You don’t have to stay here.”

Chris smiled and shook his head. “You know that’s not how it works. I’m the Hale pack hostage. He’ll never let me leave for as long as you’re alive. And that’s fine, that’s worth it to me, to see you safe and living your life, okay? Okay?”

He kissed her and held her close. He turned and looked at Peter. “When does she need to leave?”

“In the morning. Damian and Aaron will see to her safety all the way to Paris and deliver her to your family there,” Peter said, looking up at his Betas. “Her life and her safety are in your hands during the duration.”

Damian nodded his understanding. “Of course, Alpha.”

“Scott, you may go with them if you choose,” Peter said, raising his eyebrow at his Princep Beta. “But when you return from Paris, I will expect you to account for your actions.”

Damian and Aaron moved as Scott gently collected Allison, helping her to her feet. Chris rose with her, holding her close.

“Christopher, please stay for a moment,” Peter called, waving his hands at the others to leave. “You’ll be able to spend time with her before she goes, I promise. But I do have one other piece of business to deal with.”

Chris blew Allison a kiss, giving her a nod and a wave. “I’ll see you at home, honey.”

They both waited until the door closed behind them and Peter got to his feet, walking towards the hunter.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you hate me.”

“I’d hate you if you allowed her to be salvaged by the pack.” Chris took a deep breath and stared at the floor. “Do you want me to thank you for not killing her?”

“Do you feel that kind of gratitude?” Peter said, raising his eyebrow. “Because if you are feeling grateful, I’d rather have something other than just your thanks.”

Chris raised his eyes to look at Peter, part in shock and disbelief. But Peter could scent the beginnings of Chris’s arousal and he smiled at the hunter. Chris looked away, flushing slightly, and shook his head.

“You can’t possibly be asking me for that right now.”

“Well, I am an opportunist,” he said, shrugging slowly.

Peter walked to his desk and opened a drawer. He grinned at the supplies inside, reaching in to pick them up, tossing them on top of his desk. Chris turned and stared at the condoms and the packets of lube.

“Consider it as a new accord between us,” Peter said, smiling. “A private one.”

Chris’s eyes were so very blue, so intense in his tanned, handsome face.

To Be Continued…


	7. The Duality of Peter Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Hale/Chris Argent
> 
> Petopher; Blowjob.
> 
> For Moonlettuce. Peter's life is day and night. 
> 
> Photos: Nick Santos Photography, Ian Bohen (RAWR)

**DAY**

 

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/ianpajamas.jpg.html)

 

Most people didn’t lead two lives; most people had a hard enough time living just the one. But Peter Hale wasn’t most people.

By day, he was a published writer with eight books in his catalogue; and he spent his mornings locked in his bright and cheerful loft, surrounded by dozens of notebooks with his MacBook on his lap. Sometimes, he didn’t even change out of his softest pajama pants and hoodie. He’d just lounge around half the day, ignoring the multiple calls from his editor, reading Steinbeck’s “East of Eden” (for the 204th time, by his estimation), and daydreaming of writing his own Great American Novel. For now, he was happily churning out his popular YA series about a teenage boy who becomes a werewolf.

When the afternoon rolled around, once he was able to rouse himself from his satisfying lethargy, he’d drive over to his sister’s house in the Preserves, right around the time his youngest niece and nephew would be coming home from day camp with their macaroni art and hair sticking every which way with a healthy dollop of Elmer’s glue. Laura could usually be found in her bedroom, Katy Perry or Beyonce blaring, chatting away on Skype with her friends from college.

Peter smiled as he leaned in over her shoulder, smiling into the laptop camera at her friends. “Hi.”

They waved to him and he waved back.

Laura shrieked, laughing. “OHMYGOD, Uncle Peter! Privacy!”

“How can you even hear each other with the music going this loud?” He said, and then immediately made a face when he realized that he sounded like his mother. “Nevermind. Carry on.”

Laura snickered, rolling her eyes. She waved her hands, motioning him out of her bedroom. Peter knew when to make his exit and he closed the door behind him, pausing when he heard his name.

“—shut up! He’s not hot, he’s my uncle!” Laura yelled, indignantly, at her friends on the screen.

Peter grinned to himself as he closed the door and shook his head, walking slowly down the staircase.

The youngest Hales, Patrick and Cora, stopped in the middle of their big chase to hug him as they tore through the house on one of their adventures.

“Uncle Peter!”

“Hi, Uncle Peter! Bye, Uncle Peter!”

“Hi and bye,” he called after them, chuckling.

The Hale house was never quiet and always full of life. Peter loved summer; loved it when the whole family was home on vacation. He made his way out the front door to check in on his other nephew – his favorite of Talia’s children, but he would only admit that to himself – and knew that the teen would be in his usual spot.

It wasn’t a secret that the main character of his novels was based on Derek. He’d had a hand in raising Derek and knew the young man quite well. His interest in his nephew wasn’t solely for his books. Derek was the one who’d suggested that the main character, Scott, be a werewolf rather than another supernatural being.

_“Vampires are kind of boring, it’s been done to death,” Derek said, shrugging. “Everybody thinks they’re cool or something, but they’re gross. They have to drink blood.”_

_“Hmm…you’re right, I’d rather not write about another glittery vampire.”_

_“You know what would be really cool? A normal guy who gets turned into a werewolf. Like, his whole life would change, you know? He’d have to keep it a secret from his parents and everyone in town. Maybe he can have a best friend who knows and helps him.”_

_Peter raised his eyebrows. “Go on, tell me more about your idea.”_

_“Being a werewolf makes him stronger than anyone else, but just because he’s stronger and powerful doesn’t mean he’s smarter or better. He’s still a huge dork and no one likes him – not who he really is, I guess. Maybe he gets good at sports and becomes really popular, but he’s just always freaked out that they’ll find out what he is and hate him or want to kill him or something. And they think he’s one thing but he’s just faking it so no one can call him out on him being a dumb werewolf dork,” Derek said, looking at Peter, his mouth twisted in worry and rejection._

_“I think that’s a brilliant idea, kiddo.”_

Peter had cocked his head and had wondered how much of that was for the character and how much of that was Derek. He decided to spend more time with his nephew and discovered that they shared a lot of the same qualities and habits; many of the same interests. Peter had season tickets to all of the California teams and Derek, more often than not, went with him to see every home game. Peter was waiting for Derek to hit his twenties, curious to see the man that he would become.

For now, Derek, at seventeen, was the more thoughtful and quietest member of their rambunctious family, currently camped out in the old hammock, swinging lazily on the back porch, a book opened on his chest as he stared dreamily up at the sky.

“Hey, kiddo,” Peter said, leaning against the porch railing.

“What’s up, Uncle Pete? You finish your book yet?”

“I still have time,” he said, chuckling. “What’re you reading?”

Derek held it up to show him the cover. “ _’The Maze Runner_.’ Is it any good?”

“It’s all right,” he said, looking up at Peter. “Your stuff is better.”

Peter laughed, reaching out to ruffle Derek’s dark hair. “Thanks, kiddo, I’m sure that’s not a biased opinion. Come on, get your lazy butt out of there and help me get dinner started before your parents get home.”

“Okay.”

After dinner, the kids took over the family room’s large television, and Peter spent a couple of hours with Talia and her husband Robert, sitting on the front porch, sharing a couple of glasses of wine, looking out at the full moon reflected on the shimmery lake that was in front of their property. The Hale house had belonged in their family for generations and when their parents passed away, they’d left the property and nearly 100 acres of land to Peter and Talia. She was pregnant with Derek then and Peter had agreed to move into a place of his own downtown so that she could have the house for her growing family. Peter’s name was on the deed, too, and Talia and Robert had offered to buy him out, but Peter assured them that he was more than happy to give it to them. He knew he was always welcomed there; in fact, Talia insisted that Peter babysit the kids when school started.

The house, while a part of his childhood, was too far from town and Peter enjoyed being able to leave the hustle and bustle of the kids for his private and sedate bachelor pad. He could feel the tug of the night surging through him, his fingers tingling with anticipation.

“When are you going to settle down with a family of your own, Pete?” Robert asked, grinning at him.

Peter shrugged. “ _Ohhh_ , I have my eye on someone rather special, but the timing isn’t right.”

“We don’t want to know what it is that you’re doing in the meantime, do we?” Talia teased.

“Some things are better left to the imagination,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Good hunting,” Robert said, winking at him.

He kissed his sister on her cheek and hugged his brother-in-law, then made his way to his car and back to his loft. He had a lot of things to do before he could start the next chapter of his story.

*******

**NIGHT**

 

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/ianphoto2.jpg.html)

 

At night, Peter liked to prowl and hunt.

He dressed in his usual black leather jacket and favorite pair of pants, gelled back his hair, and headed to the club on the outskirts of town. Despite being a small town, Beacon Hills had a night life. It wasn’t quite the kind of night life he truly desired – those were best reserved far from town, for weekend jaunts to Los Angeles or San Francisco – but served his needs all the same.

 _The Jungle_ was already packed by the time Peter made his entrance, the techno music throbbing in his ears, the laser light show circling the dance floor. He walked to the bar and smiled at the shirtless bartender, putting in his drink order.

He turned and waited, his eyes moving through the crowd, meeting the eyes of interested young men looking his way, but moving on to keep his options open. The Friday night crowd was a mix of young and old, of sweat damp hard-bodies and gorgeous drag queens, all of them lured to the club to perform a dance of seduction for sex. Maybe even for love. But Peter wasn’t here for that tonight.

Peter didn’t have a specific type unless it was meeting a like-minded man who wanted the same thing that he did. He tastes changed, ruled by his curiosity than by flavor-of-the-moment. As he sipped his drink, his eyes fell on a young man who looked out of place and far too young to be in the club, let alone sucking on his fruity cocktail through a stirring straw. He wore loose jeans and an ugly plaid shirt over his tee-shirt, bouncing awkwardly to the music as he scanned the crowd.

He met Peter’s gaze, eyes widening for a moment before he started blinking. He casually released the straw from his pretty lips – _ohhh_ the things Peter could give him to suck on – and looked around him to see if Peter was actually smiling at him or someone near him. When he turned back, Peter felt his smile grow and he held up his glass towards the young man.

“He’s clearly underage.”  

Peter turned to look at the man standing next to him, leaning close to speak against his ear. He was well built and lean, a bit older from the salt-and-pepper in his closely cropped beard. But his blue eyes were dazzling, his smile pretty, and voice low and gravely. He was dressed in a gray shirt and black jeans, casual for the club but exuding enough confidence that it didn’t even matter.

“You’re just asking for trouble with that one.”

“I know, that’s what makes him so appealing,” Peter said, turning his body towards the man. “Are you offering something better?”

“I could be,” he said, raising his eyebrow.

“I’m Peter.”

“Chris.”

He threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass on the bar. “Come with me.”

Peter walked through the crowd, passing the pretty boy regretfully – maybe another night, then – towards the backroom. He didn’t need to turn around to see if Chris followed him or not. Peter knew that he would. He pushed the door into the restroom and grinned when he felt Chris’s hand slip around his waist, stepping up against his back as they made their way into the men’s room. He turned and wrapped his arm behind Chris’s neck, tugging him close for a kiss.

Chris moved them into the last stall, closing the door after them, and Peter pressed Chris against the stall wall, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into Chris’s mouth. Strong hands slipped under his leather jacket to stroke his skin and Chris moaned, one hand moving down over the back of Peter’s pants to curl over his ass, squeezing hard.

Peter pulled away and pushed Chris back and smirked, stepping back towards the cement wall, slowly lowering the front zipper of his leather jacket, tilting back his head and staring at the older man. He grinned, putting on a show, knowing that he had Chris’s full attention. He unzipped the jacket all the way and then leaned against the wall, his hands dropping to undo the front of his slacks.

Chris slipped to his knees in front of Peter, his hands stroking up Peter’s thighs, pulling his hands away to finish unzipping his slacks. Peter smiled, moving his fingers through Chris’s hair, urging him gently towards his hard cock, standing stiff between the opening of his slacks. He spread his legs wide to let his pants slip down his hips, but not all the way to the dirty floor of the restroom. They were his favorite pair of pants after all.

“Come on, baby,” Peter said, gasping when he felt Chris’s wet mouth cover the head of his cock, clever tongue sliding back the foreskin and lips caressing the sensitive head. Peter shivered and looked down at him. “It’s good.”

He was pleased that Chris obliged so generously, mouth working up and down on his cock, tongue sliding along the shaft. He moaned when he felt Chris relax, strong hands holding Peter’s hips steady as he sank further down his length until Peter felt the head slip into his throat and squeeze around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed out, head falling back against the wall, eyes closed. Chris pulled him out to take a breath and then took him down again. “Yes, Chris, fuck.”

Chris pulled off and licked him slowly, stroking Peter’s cock with his hand as he mouthed his balls, sucking on them gently. Peter sighed in pleasure, giving himself over to the feel of Chris’s mouth, trusting him to take care of Peter. He looked down to see Chris watching, his eyes still so blue in the dimness of the restroom. He ran his bearded chin up the shaft, making Peter shudder, and let out a deep chuckle before he curled his mouth over the head again, taking his time and stroking his tongue around the head, lips tugging playfully on the foreskin before pulling it back down with his fingers.

“Are you just going to tease me all night?”

“Why don’t you beg me to let you come?”

Peter smiled, looking down at him. “Chris, suck me, make me come.”

“Say please,” he said, softly.

“Please.”

Chris flicked his eyes up and pulled Peter back into his mouth again, sliding him in and out, drawing out every sensation until Peter’s ears were buzzing with the throbbing of his pulse.

“Chris… _please_ ,” he whispered urgently.

He moaned when Chris flicked his tongue over a particularly sensitive spot and then started to move faster, sucking harder, building it up for Peter, giving him a chance to catch up. He panted breathlessly, reaching down to run his fingers through Chris’s hair.

“Just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

He held onto Chris’s hair as he bobbed back and forth, blue eyes looking up at him as he sucked and licked, warm hands cupped behind his ass, pulling Peter’s cock into his mouth with every thrust. His fingers slipped into the cleft of his ass, tapping the rim of his hole. Peter gritted his teeth when he felt the tip of his finger breach his hole dry, just enough for Peter to know that it was there, and it triggered a rush of pleasure so unexpected, his entire body tightened and he convulsed and thrust into Chris’s mouth again and again, greedy for it.

Peter groaned, one of his hands reaching out to grab the top of the stall door as he came into Chris’s mouth, his body throbbing from every hard suck of Chris’s mouth. He was relentless and merciless, taking everything that Peter had in him to give and demanding more, trying to pull out every last drop from his cock.

He heard laughter and a smattering of applause outside the stall and Peter whimpered when Chris wouldn’t stop sucking on him.

“Jesus,” Peter hissed, hands grabbing Chris’s hair and pulling him away.

He felt Chris swallow for the last time, panting as he got to his feet, hands moving into Peter’s hair, holding his head still as he covered his mouth with his own, tongue slipping into his mouth aggressively for a deep, slow kiss.

He pulled Chris closer against him, kissing him, tasting himself in Chris’s mouth and feeling Chris’s hardness through his jeans pressing against his thigh.

“I’m going to fuck you all night,” he said, against Peter’s mouth.

Peter caught his breath and laughed, meeting Chris’s eyes. “You should definitely come home with me right now.”

***

**DAY**

Even though he was a man who kept his own schedule, he was an early riser, not one to stay in bed. Peter was freshly showered and dressed in his softest pair of pajama pants and hoodie. He padded into his kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, pulling down two white mugs and pouring a healthy serving into both. He took a sip of the hot, bitter brew, the other mug in his left hand, and walked back towards his bedroom to the sleeping man in his bed.

Chris was hugging a pillow in his sleep, sprawled across the middle of the bed. He thought that Chris looked rather good in his bed; though it probably wasn’t a good idea to get too used to the idea. Peter set down both mugs on his bedside table and tugged on Chris’s earlobe playfully with his fingers.

The other man blinked open his eyes and groaned, turning on his back and looking up at Peter. “Why did you wake me up? God, why are you even awake?”

Peter chuckled, leaning down to kiss Chris’s forehead. “How did you know where to find me last night?”

“You’re a creature of habit. You weren’t at home so I knew you’d probably be at the club.”

“ _Hmmm_ …and is that all?”

“Is that all? Jesus, considering that you’ve been ignoring my calls all week, I had to drive my ass over here to check on your book.”

“ _Awww_ …you only want me for manuscript,” he said, smiling.

“You’re five days late, Peter, and I need at least two weeks to edit your manuscript—“

“I finished it eight days ago,” Peter murmured, propping his arms over Chris’s chest, smiling widely at him.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? I could’ve gotten an early start editing—“

“Because I knew you’d come and see me.”

Chris snorted and rolled his eyes, dropping his head back on the pillow. “You’re such an ass. I don’t even know why I bother.”

“You know why.”

He watched as Chris grinned, looking at Peter.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Chris sighed happily and wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him down on the bed. “You know, the next time you want to see me, all you have to do is ask.”

“ _Mmm_ …I could, but this is so much more fun.”  

 

The End.


	8. Drawing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petopher AU
> 
> Rated: PG13 (death, murder, language)
> 
> Author’s Note: When Chris Argent saves the Hale pack from a house fire, he inadvertently changes all of their destinies.

 

When Alpha Talia Hale sent a personal invitation to attend a pack meeting, one did not refuse, especially if one was a “retired” werewolf hunter living on the Alpha’s territory.

*

The Argents were long time residents of Beacon Hills and up until a few years ago, the family of hunters had co-existed with the family of werewolves for two generations. They were not allies, but respected each other to give one another a wide berth. Chris’s father, Gerard, was the principal of Beacon Hills High School at the time, happily enjoying his new life as an educator and protector of young adults. When he was diagnosed with an untreatable cancer, Gerard had petitioned to Alpha Hale for the bite in the hopes to cure his disease – but she had politely refused, as was her right.

Chris didn’t know that it would start a chain of events that would lead to Gerard murdering Chris’s wife, Victoria, and making it look like she’d been salvaged by Omega werewolves, to Kate nearly burning down the Hale house, and to bringing in mercenary hunters to kill every member of the pack, werewolf and human.

Gerard had sent Chris on a wild goose chase after an Omega werewolf that he claimed had killed Victoria. Chris had shoved his grief to the back of his mind and spent days in a state of cold and ruthless anger, tracking and chasing down the Omega until he finally caught up with the terrified werewolf.

“I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t do it!” The Omega screamed at him, tears running down his bloody face, as Chris tasered to the ground.

He wrapped the Wolfsbane-infused rope around the werewolf, glaring coldly at him. “My father saw you kill my wife.”

Chris pulled out his half sword and swallowed, walking towards the werewolf.

“It was him! It was Argent! His men caught me and they made me watch as he cut her throat! And then they used my claws on her – they did it, not me! Not me! _I’m not a monster_.”

Something about the werewolf’s words stopped him from thrusting the steel into his heart. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the Omega.

“Please, I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t want to hurt her,” the werewolf cried, letting out a mournful howl. “You’ve got to believe me! Please, don’t hurt me.”

It made him pause; and it made him doubt.

“I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster,” the werewolf whined.

He’d let the Omega go and sent with him a warning to other werewolves to stay out of Beacon Hills. And then Chris had broken speed limits returning to Beacon Hills and shot seven of the mercenaries dead, knocked his sister unconscious, broke the line of mountain ash and Wolfsbane, and ran into the burning house to rescue the Alpha, her mate, her family, her children, their young friends, and their human allies, which included Deaton, the pack Emissary, and the Sheriff and his son.

Talia’s eyes glowed Alpha red, her clawed hand around Chris’s throat, choking the breath out of him. “How dare you do this to my pack!”

“If wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have come here to save you,” he said, hoarsely. “Help me hide the bodies of the hunters before the Sheriff’s deputies come out here.”

“Alpha. _Talia_ ,” Sheriff John Stilinski said, his voice low and rough. “He’s right, they can’t be seen by my men. I’m going to call it in, your family and some of the kids need medical care.”

She kept her eyes steady on him and slowly released his throat, turning her head to call for her mate and for her brother to help Chris take the bodies of the seven dead hunters into the woods and to bury them in the ground.

By the time they finished, a dozen deputies, two fire trucks, and three ambulances had arrived, giving oxygen to the Sheriff, to the other human adults and children. He watched as Derek whimpered, clinging to young Stiles, who looked pale as he continued to cough hoarsely into his oxygen mask. Chris was treated for some minor burns to his legs on site, but he refused to go in the ambulance, urging them to take the others first. He’d find his own way to the hospital later. The werewolves refused any medical assistance, claiming that they were fine, all of them so adept at telling believable lies. As he watched the trucks putting out the last of the fires, Chris noticed that Kate wasn’t there; he had no doubt that she and Gerard would be long gone from Beacon Hills by now. They would know that Chris stopped her from killing the pack.

“People always comment on my sister’s control. It was surely tested tonight. If it were me, I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.”

Chris turned to look at Talia’s _aide-de-pack_ , Peter Hale. As her younger brother, he was outside the line of being Alpha Heir – that honor would fall to her eldest child, Laura – so he stood as Talia’s general in wartime and her advisor in peacetime. Though he was only 28-years old, Peter’s reputation as a negotiator was as formidable as any veteran aide-de-pack; _charming to the last,_ they said, _even while he was digging his claws into your guts._

Peter stood beside Chris, hands tucked into his pockets as he stared up at the charred, smoking ruin of the house. “We’ll rebuild, of course, and we’ll be stronger for it.”

“I never wanted this to happen.”

“Perhaps it’s time that the Argent family left the territory,” Peter said, mildly. He gave Chris a long look before walking to his family, wrapping his arms around his young nieces, offering comfort and kissing the tops of their heads.

Chris watched as the pack surrounded them, closing in on a protective circle, all of them staring at their destroyed home.

_It was time to leave._

But first, he had to clean house of his own.

*

And now, ten years later, Chris found himself driving up the familiar road through the Preserves to the Hale house. Peter was right, they had rebuilt their home, and the house and the pack stood stronger for it. When he came back, he found Beacon Hills changed, but for the better. The town had rallied behind the Hale family and helped them rebuilding. The Hales were wealthy enough to take care of it on their own, but they were deeply rooted members of the community – Talia and her husband were model citizens, to be honest – so when they rented a small house in the suburbs temporarily, the neighborhood was delighted to offer them donations of food and clothes and toys for the children. The Hale fire had bonded the town together; and whenever the Hale family came into town, they were always warmly welcomed.  

Chris had spent so much of his life believing that werewolves and humans should live segregated lives; that there was no reason for them to be so integrated. It took him a long time to understand that he was wrong and _why_ he was wrong.

*

His first few months back, he caught Peter nearby, watching him. He wondered if the werewolf did it because he was keeping an eye out _for_ Chris, or if he was simply waiting for Chris to step wrong and to take him out. He was glad to be left alone for those few months. He needed the head space to deal with his family and what he was going to do now that he wasn’t a hunter. And then, one day, Peter sat down across from him at the Beacon Diner, ordering his meal and talking to him as if they were old friends. He knew it was an olive branch; once Chris accepted it, his life changed thoroughly.

“You must be lonely without your daughter,” Peter said, sipping his water.

“I thought it would be best if she…didn’t have to worry about what happened here.”

Peter nodded, thoughtfully. “But being away at school for nearly all her life is no way to be part of a family – or a pack. Have you thought about bringing her home? The schools here are not so terrible. And she’d have friends from the pack to make her transition easier.”

“Why do you keep pushing?”

Peter smiled at him. “Because you’re pack now, Christopher, it’s my job to push.”

*

It had taken Chris a year to track down his father, who was dying in a hospice care center in Boise. He stayed in town and watched his father die, slipping away in his sleep, and with his Do Not Resuscitate on file, no measures were taken to extend his life. Chris didn’t have any last words for him. Three months later, he found Kate running guns to Mexican gangs and caught up with her in El Paso. She had changed; she wasn’t the sister he knew. He shot her once in the head, once in the chest, and left her dead in her cheap hotel room, execution style – just another unfortunate and unidentified victim.

He was sitting in some hell hole bar, depressed and drunk on cheap, nasty tequila, when Peter walked up to him and sat down at his table. Chris looked him up and down and snorted. The damned werewolf looked too handsome for his own good with his fucking windblown hair, a wrinkled cream linen suit, and white V-neck tee-shirt. How the hell was it that he didn’t even look out of place in the dingy bar?

Peter crossed his legs and smiled at Chris, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. “Good morning, Christopher.”

“The fuck you want, Hale?”

“Quite an interesting change in occupation,” Peter murmured, cocking his head and looking at him. “Perhaps I should offer you a job in the pack. There are times in war when even I cannot go against human hunters…even when it is deserved.”

Chris snickered, a nasty sneer on his face. “Yeah, I know. You should thank me for doing your job.”

“And a job well done, indeed,” the werewolf said, raising his eyebrow. He took a deep breath and sighed, looking around the bar. “Why on earth are you here?”

“More like why are you here?”

“I was following your sister, of course,” he said, smiling. “I missed you by just a few hours in Boise. But my sister needed me to return to Beacon Hills before I could reach you. I’ve had my eyes on Gerard and Kate for a long time.”

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

Chris finished the warm tequila in his glass, wincing at the burn.

“I’ve been waiting to see what you would do.”

He glanced up at Peter. “I left Beacon Hills, like you said.”

“Yes, that was considerate of you,” the werewolf said, nodding. “And now that the last ugly piece of business between our families is finished, I was wondering if you’d like to return home.”

Chris snickered. “Home, huh? That’s just so _neighborly_ of you, Pete.”

He inclined his head. “You would need to retire, of course, but I’m sure that your contribution to the pack will be immeasurably profitable in other ways.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Why the hell would I want to go back there? You’ll probably just end up killing me anyway.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Christopher,” he said, raising both eyebrows in surprise. “In fact, Talia believes that the Hale pack owes you a debt that we cannot repay. The least we can do is offer you the safety and protection of the pack and your home in our territory.” He leaned towards Chris, eyes so deceptively earnest. “Put this behind you and come home. Bring your daughter; put your roots down deep. Beacon Hills is our territory, but it’s also yours.”

And that’s exactly what Chris did. He met with Talia and Robert, her mate, and after yelling at each other for a couple of hours, followed by a long, awkward silence, they tentatively agreed on a truce. Chris wasn’t invited to be pack, for obvious reasons, but he was certainly pack-adjacent and an ally to the Alpha. It was a strange adjustment, but after a few years, they settled into a comfortable partnership. The Hale pack grew stronger; Chris brought his daughter, Allison, home. Their life was quite good. With Allison home, Chris worked hard to ensure that peace in Beacon Hills continued.

*

Chris parked his car next to the others and got out, walking towards the back of the house when he heard voices, laughter, and music. He could smell the delicious scents of the BBQ on the grills; and was surprised to see all the members of the Hale pack sitting together at the two long picnic tables.

Talia smiled as she stood, walking towards him. “Chris, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I thought this was a pack meeting.”

“It is, but we decided to grill,” she said, curling her hand around his arm and guiding him to the table.

“Took you long enough,” the Sheriff called, handing him a bottle of beer.

“Hey, dad!” Allison called, waving to him from the other side of the yard. She was with her friends playing what looked like competitive badminton.

Chris smiled and blew her a kiss, sitting down across from Talia. “It looks like a good party.”

He looked around the table – Robert, Alan Deaton, Sheriff John Stilinski and his fiancée Melissa McCall, her son, Scott, Derek and Stiles – welcomed him warmly.

“Is there anything new to report?” Talia asked him, cutting into her steak.

“Actually, things have been quiet. I don’t have anything new to tell you,” he said, smiling.

“Oh thank god, official pack business is adjourned! Now, it’s time to eat and have fun,” Robert crowed, laughing as Talia snapped her teeth playfully at him.

Everyone had full plates in front of them. He was about to get up and check out what was on the grill when someone set a plate in front of him piled high with steak and ribs.

He looked up to see Peter smiling at him, sitting next to him on the bench.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“My pleasure,” he said, raising his eyebrow.

Chris listened to the various conversations around the table, everyone chattering away; Stiles told a hilarious story about attending his first frat party at college, the Sheriff giving him a pointed look at some of Stiles’s antics.

“You realize that I am the Sheriff and I can take you in for underage drinking,” he said, raising his eyebrow at Stiles.

“Well, that depends on how you define underage and drinking.”

“I define it as illegal, Stiles. How do you define it?”

Stiles laughed. “Well, to be honest, dad, there was probably more soda than alcohol in my cup.”

“Yeah, Stiles is a total lightweight. He smells alcohol and he passes out,” Scott said, laughing.

It was Melissa’s turn to give Scott a look. “And how would you know about Stiles’s tolerance level to alcoholic beverages?”

“Uhhhhh…”

Stiles laughed, tucking his head against Derek’s neck as Scott turned a deep red, looking for a way out of his mother’s suspicious stare.

Chris liked the Sheriff and Melissa together; they made sense. They’d be good partners in keeping the boys in line. He’d enjoyed watching the sparks fly between them for years and was just as happy as everyone else when the two finally announced their engagement three weeks ago.

Allison, Lydia, and Cora came to the table, happily stealing bits of food from the table, grabbing the boys to lure them to play girls versus boys in badminton.

Peter leaned close to him, talking against his ear, filling him in on the things that he missed. There wasn’t much to tell, their territory was at peace. Chris realized that he was content; that this was what it felt like to be safe and happy. He looked at his friends; he looked at his daughter laughing and having the best time of her life; he looked at Peter and knew what exactly what some of _his_ looks meant. Maybe it was time to settle his past and move forward with his life. There was no point in living with his ghosts; maybe they needed to be free, too.

They lit tiki torches when it started to get dark, none of them in any hurry to leave the party just yet. The kids went into the woods to play flashlight tag, but they all knew that they would probably break up into pairs to make out – he refused to believe that his daughter did anything except just make out with Scott – and the adults went inside to enjoy the air conditioning.

Chris picked up some of the dirty dishes, walking them into the kitchen. He smiled when he realized that Peter had followed him.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” He said, loading up the dishwasher.

Peter leaned his shoulder against the doorway. “I rather enjoy just watching you instead.”

“You never want to do your share of the chores,” he complained, lightly.

“If you don’t want to do chores, Christopher, I’m more than happy to hire you a cleaning service.”

Chris laughed, looking under the sink cabinet for the dishwashing pods, putting them into the dishwasher and closing the door. He locked it and set it for wash, then grabbed a dish towel to wipe his hands dry. He leaned back against the sink and folded the towel neatly, placing it on the counter.

Peter smiled, walking towards him. “So this is what a domesticated werewolf hunter looks like.”

He barked out a laugh. “I think that you’re the one who’s domesticated, Peter.”

Peter reached out and placed his hands on the edges of the sink, trapping Chris inside his arms. “You shouldn’t tease a werewolf, Christopher, you may not like the consequences.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Peter kissed him and Chris sighed into it, wrapping his arms behind Peter’s back and pulling him closer. He tasted like cake and whiskey, with just a touch of bitterness from the Wolfsbane-infusion. He ran his hand down the length of Peter’s lean, muscular back, his hand curling down over the curve of his plump ass.

“—seriously want some ice cream _ohhhh holy shit_!”

Peter pulled away and growled, snapping his teeth in the air at the intruders. “Get out.”

Chris turned to see Stiles and Derek staring at them with wide eyes, Stiles’s mouth opened in shock, while Derek just rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around Stiles’s chest and dragging him away.

“Ohmygod! They were totally making out!” Stiles said, loud enough that everyone inside and outside of the house no doubt heard him.

“Robert! You owe me a hundred bucks!” The Sheriff called from the living room.

“No way! It doesn’t count if you didn’t witness it with your own eyes, John!” Robert parried back, laughing.

Chris heard the front door open and close. Stiles’s voice carried in the night air. “Allison! Your dad’s making out with Peter! He’s totally going to be your stepdad!”

“Peter, please don’t do anything inappropriate in front of the children,” Talia called, her voice firm but amused.

Peter sighed, dropping his forehead against Chris’s chest. “Why is this my life?”

Chris laughed. It bubbled out of him in long, deep rumbles. Peter looked up at him, puzzled by Chris’s prolonged laughter. “You know, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything else right now.”

“Oh really?” Peter crooned, stepping closer, his hands stroking up and down Chris’s sides.

“Want to get out of here?”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours tonight,” he said, chuckling deeply. “And mine, later, if you want to come over for lunch.”

“Well, how could I possibly refuse?”

  
THE END. 


	9. Pack Wars: The Dark Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek
> 
> Potential Petopher  
> Might even be potential Steter
> 
> I spent the day marathon watching the Star Wars series and this happened.

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/packwars_logo.png.html)

 

 

_In a world where Peter rules as the Alpha Werewolf Emperor of the entire universe, a young prince allies with a rogue Beta Werewolf, a future True Alpha, and a rag-tag resistance force to try and stop Emperor Peter’s ruthless dictatorship of the universe._

***

_Somewhere, in a faraway galaxy…_

 

The Beta Werewolf stalked down the hallway, not noticing how the other people naturally gave way, pressing their backs against the walls of the narrow corridor as he scowled, growling under his breath. There were still a few humans who weren’t used to seeing a Werewolf in their midst, though the Resistance had accepted him as an ally when he and Isaac rescued Prince Stiles Stilinski and proved their loyalty by clearing the way for the True Alpha Scott McCall to make that once-in-a-lifetime shot, ultimately destroying the Emperor’s genocidal weapon.

_The Bite is a gift; it’s my gift to all the humanoid races. When I turn them all into Werewolves, we’ll finally have peace in the universe._

_And if they don’t want to be Werewolves?_

_Then they will be destroyed._

_Uncle Peter, you can’t do this._

_Can’t I, my dear boy?_

_You shouldn’t do this!_

“Captain Hale! Hey!”

Derek shook the dark thoughts away and quickened his pace, hands clenched in fists.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, Beta!”

He stopped and turned, the young man running into him and comically bouncing off his chest. “What do you want, Your Highness?”

Prince Stiles found his footing and rolled his eyes. “I thought we were past formalities now, Derek.”

“All right, Przemyslaw Genim.”

“It’s Stiles,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Derek smirked. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“General Deaton said you were leaving. Look, I know it’s not easy to live with a Death Mark over your head but you don’t have to do this alone.”

He felt the smirk leave his face and he took a deep breath. “That hunter we ran into at the Beacon Signal Base hit a little too close to home.”

“So you’re just going to check out on us? Because you’re scared about your own ass? What about us, Derek? What about the rest of us? We’ve lost just as much as you but we’re still here, we’re still fighting.”

Derek sneered. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Stiles.”

“Then tell me. Let me help you.  _Please_.” He said, putting his hand on Derek’s arm. “You can’t keep running from the past.” Stiles looked at him, his wide amber-brown eyes meeting Derek’s, gaze steady and wise beyond his teenage years. In the right light, they could look like a young Werewolf’s eyes and something in Derek was drawn to him. Stiles smiled, kindly, leaning closer. “I know, Derek; I know about Peter, about Argent. I know about what happened to your family. I know everything, but it doesn’t mean that I’ll hold it against you. You’ve helped me, helped all of us. Just let me do the same for you. Let me do something.”  

Derek smiled, pushing Stiles until he hit the wall, standing close to him and looking at his soft face. “Oh? What’re you going to do if I stay?”

Stiles blinked up at him. "Uhh..."

“You said you’d do something,” Derek placed his hands on Stiles’s hips, slipping his thumbs under the heavy sweaters to stroke his soft, warm skin. “There must be a reason you want me to stay.”

“What do you mean? You’re a good fighter – well, okay, you’re not really a  _good_ fighter, but you don’t ever give up and you won’t leave people behind. You always try to do your best for our pack,” Stiles said, earnestly.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “And that’s all?”

“What, do you want another medal? I can give you another freaking medal if that’s what it’ll take!”

The Beta Werewolf snickered, pressing his nose against the side of Stiles’s neck and inhaled deeply, scenting his familiar warm smells, especially the smell of his arousal. He licked Stiles’s neck, taking a taste of him, one for the road, so to speak, and lifted his head to look at Stiles’s flushed face.

“You always smell like you want me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” The young Prince snorted, shaking his head. “And it’s rude to smell people without permission!”

Stiles pushed Derek off and the Werewolf smiled, taking a step back.

“Well, if you want your goodbye kiss, you can find me in the hangars,” he said, turning on his heel and walking down the corridor, smirking to himself.

“Don’t hold your breath, Hale!” Stiles yelled after him and Derek laughed, waving his hand in the air.


	10. A Dangerous Liaison (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf/Modern Regency Fic 
> 
> Pairing: Underage!Derek/Kate (not explicit, but mature)

 

Peter parked his car far beyond the property line of the private garden cottage and walked the rest of the way towards the small house discreetly enclosed in the woods. As a rendezvous location, there was none better; and Peter was experienced enough to know how to keep a fuck house location a closely guarded secret.

Unfortunately, his 15-year old nephew, Derek, was too new to the game and left behind a bright trail of recklessness and youthful lust, leading Peter right to the garden cottage.

He walked the perimeter of the house, the sound of rock music loud enough to be heard through the opened windows. The house was a lovely one story floor plan with an open and spacious living area, a romantic fireplace at one end, a little eating nook in the kitchen, and a large bedroom. Peter looked into the window to see Derek in bed, leaning back against the pillows, his lady sitting astride him and riding him with a languid, expert roll of her slender hips. She had long dark blonde hair and tanned skin; and Derek’s hands looked so young against the curve of her fleshy bottom.

Peter briefly wondered if he should wait and let them finish, let Derek have his last taste of her, before he kicked down the front door.

He watched as Derek flung his head back against the pillows, his mouth open and eyes screwed shut, as the lady quickened her pace, her laugh husky and loud, tinged with a hint of mockery.

Peter frowned and rapped his knuckles loudly against the glass, catching their attention. Derek’s eyes widened, started, his hands grabbing for the sheets at his knees, attempting to cover them. The lady paused her ride and looked over at him; and Peter recognized her as Lady Katherine Argent.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurrying to the front of the house and opening the door. He ran through the house to the bedroom, his hand slamming the door open. “Get off him, Kate!”

Kate smirked, letting out a sigh that turned into a chuckle. “Lord Hale.”

Peter looked at the clothes scattered on the floor, grabbing the ones that looked like Derek’s, tossing them at the stunned and mortified teenager. “Get dressed right now, Derek.”

Derek scrambled into his clothes in silence, his dark green eyes flicking over at Peter and then looking longingly at Kate. Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

For the love of God, why her?

He watched as Kate crawled off the bed, throwing off the sheets. She obviously didn’t care for her modesty and she walked around the bed, past him, letting Peter look his fill at her lovely body. She had nothing to be ashamed of and she knew it. Kate met his eyes boldly, full lips curled into a smile, and she smelled like perfume and sex as she passed him, picking up her silk robe from the back of the chaise lounge. She slipped it on, tying the sash at her waist, as she sat down on the lounge.

“How did you even find us? No one knows the location of my house,” she said, picking up a pack of clove cigarettes, tapping one out. She placed the filter into her mouth and lit it expertly with her silver lighter, inhaling deeply.

“He’s just a kid, Kate,” Peter said, looking at Derek as he finished dressing. He was pulling on his socks and sitting on the edge of the bed, shoving his feet into his sneakers. “Why would you compromise someone so young?”

Kate grinned. “Because I can.”

Peter snorted, shaking his head. “Whatever you think you’re going to get out of this, believe me when I tell you that it’s not going to happen.”

Kate laughed at him, leaning back against the chaise, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “I already got what I wanted.”

They both turned to look at Derek, who was flushed red in the face, arms crossed protectively in front of his chest, eyes staring at the floor. Peter wondered if Derek was just realizing that he was nothing but a toy, a pawn, in Kate’s game. A part of him felt just a little bit sorry for his nephew; that Peter should’ve better warned him off from predators like Lady Argent.

“Conquest, then?”

“Of a Hale, no less,” she murmured, pleased. “A very special notch on my bedpost.”

Peter let out a sigh, his hands on his hips. “I suppose I can’t buy your silence for this.”

  
“Not a chance, Peter. This one is going to make me infamous. I’ll be first one to ever deflower a Hale heir,” she said, ugly in her smugness.

“Fuck, you know what Kate, do whatever you want. Have a nice fucking life, but leave Derek alone. If you come near him again, I will have the House of Lords take action against you,” he said, snapping his fingers to get Derek’s attention. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Derek pushed off from the edge of the bed, walking across the room slowly. He paused and turned to look at Kate.

She smiled at him, her beautiful face full of pretend warmth and happiness, so clear that it was just a façade. Kate puckered her lips and blew Derek a kiss. “Goodbye, sweet lover. Dream of me, Derek.”

Derek glared at her, his lips pressed together, cheeks still ruddy and flushed in embarrassment. He stalked out of the bedroom, not making eye contact with Peter.

“You’re a cruel fucker, Kate.”

Kate laughed. “I know.”

Peter left the house and saw Derek leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, his face turned away. He shouldered his face and wiped at his eyes; Peter gave him a moment, it was the least that he could do.

“Come on, I parked the car on the road,” Peter said, shoving his hands into his jacket and heading back through the woods towards the main road. He heard Derek sniffle, walking a few feet behind him.

***

He left Derek alone for five days, letting the embittered teenager sulk and blame Peter for the consequences of his affair. True to her word, Lady Kate had spilled the tale of her seduction of the young Hale heir into the ears of every gossip mongering tabloid reporter in the state of California.

Peter supposed that he should nip it in the bud, and as the Duke of Beacon Hills, Lord Peter Hale could easily make the lurid stories go away. But he wanted Derek to learn from this moment; to either stop his recklessness altogether or to become more discreet in his love affairs. Peter didn’t honestly care; he just wanted Derek to learn. After all, Derek was his designated heir; he would have to carry on the Hale name with the same pride that every Hale before him did.

Derek walked into Peter’s private study, a surly look on his face. “I’m going to marry her.”

“One does not just waltz into my private study without knocking or waiting for permission to enter,” he chided, raising his eyebrow.

Derek ignored him and stalked into the room, glaring at Peter the whole time. He stood in front of Peter’s desk, hands rolled into a tight fist. “Did you hear me? I said that I’m going to marry her. If we get engaged, I won’t be compromised; it’ll be a legal relationship.”

“You’re underage, Derek.”

“Then you just have to give me permission.”

Peter stared at him. “I do not. And I will not. Absolutely not. There is no way that you are going to marry her, Derek.”

“I love—“

Peter laughed, slapping his hand on the surface of his desk. “Don’t even go there. Don’t tell me that you love her. Do you not understand what happened between you? She didn’t fuck you because she loved you, Derek, she fucked you because of you’re a Hale. She fucked you for the notoriety—“

“Stop saying that!” Derek yelled, taking a step closer to the desk. “That’s not what happened!”

“I could have her arrested for compromising you!”

Derek sneered. “It’s because she turned you down.”

“Is that what she told you?” Peter said, getting to his feet. He smiled at his nephew as he walked around the desk. “She told you that she wouldn’t have me; that she’d much rather have you?”

“Yeah,” he said, raising his chin and meeting Peter’s eyes.

Peter nodded, sighing. “Derek, she and I used to be friends, in fact, we were the best of friends. Co-conspirators. Allies. She was the only woman to truly understand me; and I understood her and we never once felt shame for the things we did. We used to have a contest to see which of our Peers we could seduce. It was a game between us. We spent a great deal of our teenage years fucking through the Peerage and keeping score. One night, we were drunk, and she kissed me. But I pushed her away and told her that I’d never fuck a slut like her. That ended our friendship, of course, but the game between us never stopped. You’re just…collateral damage.”

“That’s not true.”

Peter cocked his head. “Isn’t it? You know of my reputation and it’s only because I’m now the Duke of Beacon Hills that they’ve stopped gossiping about me. But if you ask the right people, the ones who will tell you the truth, they’ll tell you about me and Kate and our game.”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care! I’m going to propose to Kate and we’re going to get married. I know she loves me!”

“I’ll never let that happen,” he said, softly. “Derek, listen to me, please. Don’t do this. She will laugh in your face and she’ll make a mockery of you to Society. Everywhere you go, they’ll laugh at you and talk about you—“

“I don’t care—“

Peter grabbed Derek’s arms. “But I care, Derek. I care for you and your sisters. I care for our family and our place in Society. I should’ve known that Kate would try something and I blame myself for not protecting you from her; I should’ve told you the truth and warned you away from her—“

“Get off me!”

“Derek, please, don’t make me send you away,” Peter said, holding Derek still. “I don’t want to send you away from your home and your family and friends. But if you even think of going to her with this insane idea of marriage, I will send you far away; I’ll exile you from Beacon Hills for decades—“

“No! Don’t do that, Uncle Peter, please!”

“Then you have to let Kate go,” Peter said, sternly. “She’s dangerous; she’s a monster, Derek. She’ll kill everything you love and she’ll do it with a remorseless smile and she’ll look so angelic and beautiful while she guts you. Don’t believe her lies. You know I’m telling you the truth. _You know it._ So just listen to me, please, just this once, Derek. Please.”

Derek stared at him and Peter hoped that he’d gotten through to his nephew. Let this be the one time that Derek didn’t fight him; didn’t go against him. He saw something shift in Derek’s gaze, the way his green eyes hardened with new knowledge, with new experience. Whatever hurt he had felt from this had made a lasting impact on the teenager and Peter knew, without a doubt, that he would have to send Derek away where he would be monitored and watched.

“One day, you’ll stop hating me because you’ll understand why I did what I’m going to do now,” Peter said, kindly. “And I will always be your family and your best friend; I’ll wait for that time, Derek.”

Derek snarled. “I hate you, Peter. One day, I’ll come back and I’ll rip your throat open.”

And Peter believed him. “But not today.”


	11. Accords - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter/Chris, Petopher
> 
> Part 2 to Accords (see chapter 6)
> 
> Warnings: The sex! Though it might be slightly dub-con even though Chris consents to his punishment, but I’m warning for it regardless.
> 
> Gorgeous fanart that inspired the fic: http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/94597389734

_Previously…_

 

_“Do you feel that kind of gratitude?” Peter said, raising his eyebrow. “Because if you are feeling grateful, I’d rather have something other than just your thanks.”_

_Chris raised his eyes to look at Peter, part in shock and disbelief. But Peter could scent the beginnings of Chris’s arousal and he smiled at the hunter. Chris looked away, flushing slightly, and shook his head._

_“You can’t possibly be asking me for that right now.”_

 

*****

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You _can_ say no. In fact, you can just leave. If that’s what you want.”

 

“Does what I want even matter?”

 

“Of course it matters, Christopher.”

 

Chris took a deep breath and looked away. “You’d only hold it against me if I said no; you’d probably hold it against if I said yes. Either way, I’m fucked.”

 

Peter didn’t need to respond, so he grinned instead.

 

Well, it wasn’t _completely_ true. Peter was a lot of things – he was ruthless and he wasn’t above using intimidation to get what he wanted; he was cruel because he enjoyed doling out pain, whether it was emotional or physical; and he was even the big bad wolf who would eat your grandmother and hide in her bed to wait for you – but he wasn’t actually going to hold it against Chris for not wanting to have sex with him.

 

But he was an opportunist; and he’d given Chris an out. There was nothing stopping Chris from taking it and walking out of Peter’s private study. Though he was a “pack hostage,” his place in Peter’s pack wouldn’t suffer for it; Peter had already punished him by exiling Allison. He’d already gotten what he wanted; he’d won the game and gotten the trophy.

 

This was his victory lap.

 

“Fine, get it over with,” Chris said, his hands reaching for the front of his jeans, undoing them. He shoved the denim down his hips to his knees and leaned forward, hands braced against the edge of the desk.

 

Peter was not amused – okay, he was amused – but he was also a little annoyed that Chris was so _perfunctory_ about it. Like this was just a transaction between them. He wasn’t going to allow Chris to close his eyes and grit his teeth through it, like it was a difficult training exercise. He wasn’t about to let Chris simply _endure_ Peter’s touch.

 

“I find it quite interesting that you’d bend over so easily,” he murmured, walking around the desk to get a good look at Chris’s bared ass.

 

“You’re not the first guy I’ve been with.” Chris smirked. “Not the first werewolf either.”

 

Peter growled low. “I would’ve thought you’d take more convincing.”

 

“Sorry to spoil your fun,” Chris said, glancing at Peter over his shoulder. He snorted and then turned his face away. “I’d like to spend as much time with my daughter as possible, so if you’d just get started, we could get my punishment over with and I can go home.”

 

That was truly a first class ass; round and firm, not an ounce of fat. Chris wasn’t a man who sat behind a desk or led a life of leisure and ease. His body was physically fit, primed to hunt and to fight. _Primed for a lot of things._ Peter stood behind him, looking at the narrow waist under the hem of the cotton shirt, the tanned freckled skin, the lean ropes of muscle in his thighs. The hair on his legs was light brown and Peter trailed his eyes up to the V of his legs to look at his ball sack, the skin wrinkled and soft.  

 

Peter reached out and placed his thumbs against his ass, pulling the flesh apart to take a look at his asshole. Chris tensed under his hands, he reeked of lust and embarrassment; and Peter wanted nothing more than to bury his face against his ass and fuck that hole with his tongue until Chris was begging for it.

 

He was certain that Chris would look delectable in his bed, on his back, head throw back, face scrunched in pleasure. He wanted to reach out and run his claws over Chris’s hips, leaving behind his mark and his scent. 

 

“Turn around.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Christopher, I gave you an order. Turn around.”

 

He watched as Chris turned, the hem of his tee-shirt long enough to hide his uninterested cock.

 

Even with his jeans around his thighs and vulnerable, he kept his face neutral, eyes hard as they glared at Peter. But there was _something_ indefinable in the hunter’s scent, masculine and musky, with a hint of grass and gun oil. Peter realized that Chris was fighting back his arousal, keeping tight control over his body’s reactions. He might be able to hide that he was physically turned on, but he couldn’t hide his scent from a werewolf.

 

Peter smiled, watching as Chris’s face flushed even deeper. He knew that Peter would smell him out.

 

“What makes you angrier? The fact that **I** want to fuck you or that **you** want to be fucked.”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond.

 

Peter looked him over, leering and unsubtle. Chris’s cock wasn’t hard, but the head had a dark rosy flush, the shape of it forming under Peter’s appreciative gaze. “As I said, you’re free to leave at any time. And I promise that there will be no retaliation against you if that’s what you choose to do.”

 

Chris’s eyes moved to the door and then back to Peter. He could sense the indecision; but was Chris hesitating because he wasn’t sure that Peter would let him leave or because Chris didn’t want to go?

 

“For what it’s worth, I knew it wasn’t you. I just needed the evidence to clear your name.”

 

“Then why do you want _this_ from me?”

 

Peter laughed. “After all this time, you still don’t know? Why wouldn’t I want you? I offered you the bite once and I let you go when you said no.” He stepped closer towards the hunter, the scent of his musk deepening into something else. “But I wanted to bite you, Christopher. I would’ve taken all of your skills, all of your anger, and reshaped you into the fiercest werewolf any pack has ever known.”

 

“I don’t want to become anything like that.”

 

“I know,” he said, nodding slowly. “Your father wanted to make you into a monster—“

 

“If you’re going to fuck me, then just fuck me; but don’t try to fuck with my head, Peter.”

 

He placed his hands on Chris’s hips and sank slowly down to his knees, looking up at Chris the whole time. The hunter inhaled sharply through his nose and took a step back, his hands flailing out behind him to grab onto the edge of the desk.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“Has it really been that long? Or did you think that I wouldn’t want to do this for you?” Peter said, smiling up at him. He pressed his face into Chris’s groin, licking that strip of sensitive skin at the top of his thigh, Chris’s wiry pubes brushing against his cheek. Chris hissed and tried to move away, but Peter let out a soft growl and held him in place, inhaling deeply the warm core of him. He met the shocked look as he licked the other side of his groin, smiling when he felt Chris shiver.

 

He sucked the head into his mouth, licking around the head, pulling on the tip harder when Chris moaned. Blue eyes stared down at him, wide and filled with just a little bit of fear, and Peter closed his eyes in pleasure, feeling Chris’s cock harden in his mouth.

 

“Jesus. Peter,” Chris whispered, hands clutching at the edge of the desk, trying to pull out of Peter’s mouth.

 

But he wasn’t going to let Chris falter now, not when he could taste Chris’s pre-come on his tongue, his musk deepening with an earthy scent filling his senses. Peter’s hand tightened on Chris’s hips, holding him steady against the desk, and he bobbed his head gently, keeping the suction and the pressure just on the edge of interesting.

 

Chris wasn’t a boy, wasn’t quick on the trigger. It took time to get him all the way hard, to lick the pre-come that Peter lured teasingly from the tip. Peter relished the chance to suck him, slowly, giving Chris a blowjob that he’d remember. He pulled off and wrapped his hand around the base of the cock, stroking him with firm, long strokes, thumbing over the head as Chris breathed harshly through his nose, keeping his moans to himself. He couldn’t keep his eyes from Peter, though, didn’t look away when Peter popped just the head back into his mouth, stroking him to full hardness as he flicked his tongue around the opening.

 

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Peter murmured, letting Chris go and moving quickly to his feet. He cupped his hands on Chris’s face and kissed his mouth, pressing his tongue into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, licking playfully against Chris’s tongue.

 

Chris moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Peter’s hips, pulling him closer. He let out a pleased sound when Chris took over the kiss, chasing Peter’s tongue into his mouth, nipping at Peter’s bottom lip. He ran his hand through Chris’s soft hair, sighing when Chris stroked his bearded cheek against Peter’s face, trailing his teeth down the length of Peter’s neck.

 

And bit him.

 

Peter hissed, his hands grabbing Chris’s face, pulling him back. “Now, now, Christopher, be fair. If you won’t allow me to bite you, then why should you have that privilege?”

 

“You liked it,” he said, his lips curled into a small smirk. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss against the corner of Peter’s mouth. “When was the last time you let anyone bite you, Peter?”

 

He met Chris’s knowing gaze and he turned Chris around, pushing him forward over the front of his oak desk, kicking Chris’s feet apart as far as they would go with his jeans tangled around his knees. Chris made a startled sound, his palms slapping against the wood to catch his weight, and Peter stepped up right against him, pressing the hardness under his dress slacks against Chris’s ass, feeling the light tremors against him. He jerked up the back of the cotton tee-shirt to run his claws down Chris’s back, just hard enough to leave behind stinging welts.

 

“Hand me the condom and the lube, Christopher.”

 

He waited patiently for Chris to find his bearings, his hand reaching out to grab the condom foils and lube packets, handing them to Peter.

 

Peter pulled his hips back to undo the front of his slacks. He closed his eyes in quick pleasure, stroking himself slowly and then tightening his hold at the base to keep from coming too quick. He was going to make Chris beg; his werewolf stamina a perfect match for the hunter’s stubbornness.

 

After squeezing a large amount of lube on his fingers, he prepped Chris quickly and efficiently, smiling at the quick intake of breath and the clenching of muscles around his fingers. He waited for Chris to relax, feeling the muscles loosen, and fucked him deeply, reaching into Chris’s body, and brushing expertly over his prostate. The hunter let out a stifled whimper, pressing his mouth against his arm, and tightened his muscles around Peter’s fingers for a long moment before relaxing and unclenching.

 

He pulled on the condom and stroked himself with the leftover lube on his fingers and sank into Chris with a steady push.

 

Chris groaned, hiding his face against his arms, his palms trying to find traction on the slippery desk surface.

 

Peter fucked him. It wasn’t slow and deep, but fast and hard, slamming his hips against Chris’s ass, holding him with brute strength at the waist as he thrust into Chris’s ass. He made a slight adjustment on his hold and circled his hips, finding the right angle, and fucked into him hard again.

 

“Fuck!” Chris hissed out, panting noisily. “Yeah…oh fuck…”

 

He pressed his mouth against his arm again and Peter had had enough. He bent over Chris’s back and curled his arms under Chris’s armpits and pulled him up, taking all of his weight, and slammed his cock into Chris’s tight ass. He was determined to have all of Chris – every whimper of pain, every shudder of pleasure, every moan of one or the other.

 

Chris moaned loudly, arching into it, head flung back onto Peter’s shoulder. “Asshole.”

 

“There’s no hiding from me, darling.” Peter chuckled, nuzzling against Chris’s ear.  

 

He bent Chris over on the desk again, keeping his wrists pinned behind at the small of his with one hand.

 

“Motherfucker,” Chris complained, knocking his forehead onto the desk. He adjusted his stance so that his chest was holding him up, but that meant that he had to keep his chin up, balanced against the desk’s hard surface.

 

Peter smiled, fucking into the trembling body with long, steady strokes, knowing that his cock was pressing deep inside, stroking over his prostate. He let out a pleased growl when he felt Chris arching back against him, clenching and unclenching around his cock, milking him.

 

“A good boy deserves a reward,” Peter murmured, bending gently over Chris and wrapping his right hand around Chris’s cock, unsurprised to feel it hot and hard and wet.

 

He held Chris trapped against the desk and fucked him with fast, short strokes. His hand curled around the head knowing that that was all the friction he needed. Chris squirmed and thrust back into each one of Peter’s strokes, grunting at Peter’s fast pace, unable to hold himself up and just letting himself go. He closed his eyes, face turned against the desk, panting as Peter drove him to his pleasure; but it was too fast and too hard, not giving Chris a chance to catch his breath, to figure out where the pleasure was coming from, not giving him a chance to hide or deny that it was Peter giving it to him.

 

Chris let out a scream through gritted teeth, his neck arched back. His body gave a hard shudder under Peter and the werewolf had to hold him down so that he wouldn’t be bucked off. Peter growled and finished Chris off, his hand squeezing and milking out every drop of his come onto the desk, stroking the overly sensitive head now, forcing Chris to feel it.

 

“Jesus, don’t—don’t!” Chris cried out, trying to move his cock out of Peter’s grip. “Peter, fucking let go, please! _Please_!”

 

Peter groaned, letting go of Chris’s cock and his wrists, pinning the hunter flat against his desk with his hands braced on Chris’s back, and he slowly pulled his cock from inside of him. He rolled off the condom and stroked his cock, needing to come now, and sprayed every drop of it along Chris’s back.

 

Chris flinched, turning his face away and burying it into the crook of his arm. Peter moaned lowly and pressed the head of his bared cock inside Chris for just a moment, just enough to get the last drops of his come inside of Chris, marking him thoroughly.

 

“Yes,” he murmured, rubbing his come into Chris’s skin.

 

He bent over the other man and bit him on the back of the neck, leaving his teeth marks and sucking a dark hickie into his freckled skin.

 

“Shit, you didn’t just—“

 

“It’s not a turning bite,” Peter said, breathlessly. He pulled his softening cock from inside Chris’s warmth and sighed, regretful that it was over, running his hands up and down Chris’s back. It was such a strong back, enough to carry Peter’s weight; or whatever weight Peter wanted him to carry. He rubbed his palms gently over Chris’s skin, delighting in that he would carry Peter’s scent.

 

He stepped back and watched as Chris moved up on his elbows, then pushing himself up with his hands. He let out a groan, stretching out his back and shoulders. Peter dressed himself back to his immaculate state; he could see that Chris’s legs were shaking and he reached out, holding Chris steady.

 

“You all right?”

 

“I’m fine,” he said, elbowing Peter back and off of him. He reached down for his jeans, pulling them on. He tugged down his tee-shirt and turned, looking at Peter. “So, we done?”

 

“We’re done.”

 

He watched as Chris took a fortifying breath, taking a careful step until he was certain that he had his legs back under him. He walked across the room not looking at Peter, his hand on the doorknob.

 

“When I offered you the bite, it wasn’t because I wanted you to be my Beta. It was to make you my Mate.”

 

He knew that Chris was shocked by Peter’s words. He paused at the door and then turned to look at Peter, his eyes wide and a bit stunned. “I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

 

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

 

“Is that an order or a request?”

 

Peter grinned. “It’s actually a date, Christopher.”

 

Chris moved his hand over his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to that either.”

 

Peter walked across the room and kissed him, one hand cupping the back of his head, pressing close against his side. He wasn’t expecting Chris to respond and he moaned when Chris’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him in closer.

 

“This is your way of courting me, isn’t it?” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a right fucking bastard, you know that?”

 

Peter smiled. “It wouldn’t be half as interesting if it was too easy.” He placed a chaste kiss on Chris’s cheek. “So…dinner?”

 

Chris raised his eyebrow. “I don’t know, Peter, you just exiled my kid and took it out on my ass—“

 

“It’s just a date.”

 

The hunter watched him with narrowed eyes.

 

“You can _always_ say no. If that’s what you want,” Peter said, cheekily.

 

“Either way, I’m still fucked, aren’t I?”

 

Peter made a pleased noise and nuzzled his neck, nipping his warm skin. “But only in the best way. We could always create a new accord.”


	12. The Talia Hale School of Visual Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snobby architect Chris Argent joins the UCBH faculty and strikes up a rivalry with hedonistic filmmaker Peter Hale.
> 
> Future Petopher.

[](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/college_banner.png.html) 

 

“The film was really… _revealing_ ,” the woman said, trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she stared at Peter.

He was used to the insinuations; knew that some people would look at his documentary and see him naked and vulnerable and want a piece of him. Many would only see the kinks and the sex. Only a handful of people would truly understand that ‘Alpha Bondage’ was about stripping down all defenses until you could see the core of a human being. Peter believed that there was no other moment of human truth than at the juncture of pain and pleasure; that millisecond before you came.

“It was a very long project to work on,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. He regretted it instantly as the strong notes of her sandalwood-based perfume hit him full force. “We’re taking it to Tribeca next; Robert DeNiro extended a personal invitation. I don’t expect that the film will win any of the major categories, though I’m really proud to say that we’ve been nominated in three—“

“So how would you describe your sexuality now, Peter? A bit less vanilla and more on the dark side of things? Did you enjoy pain and bondage before you started to explore it? I mean, how does that even work, in those bondage clubs?”

Peter sighed internally, pasting a fake polite smile on his lips. One would think that being in a roomful of academics that they, at least, would be the ones to intellectually understand what he was trying to do with his documentary; that it wasn’t about his sexuality or his kinks or his sex life for that matter, but just one human being’s journey through intense self-reflection and self-discovery.

“My sexuality was never at the center point of the film, Andrea,” he said, slowly. “In fact, sex had very little to do with ‘Alpha Bondage’ and more to do with the prurient practice of sexual stereotyping.”

She stared at him with obvious interest. “Basically, you’ve always been a little kinky. You know, I’ve always been interested in—“  

Peter bit back his growl of frustration, taking another sip of his red wine. “Excuse me, I think the Dean is trying to catch my attention.”

He walked away swiftly, heading across the room to the safety of the food table. He hated attending the faculty mixers; people always had such a warped perception of him and his work. His last year’s film “The Beacon” was on the topic of torture as a response to the wave of gory horror movies, distastefully nicknamed “torture porn,” where Peter delved into the human psychosis of doling out pain and cruelty and horror for pleasure, and the visceral human response in **watching** someone being tortured.

Peter found himself in the center of controversy, again, when campus gossip rippled through the quad that Peter had actually tortured and killed the young woman on film, that he had created the ultimate snuff film. It had gotten to the point where the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department investigated the rumors and Peter revealed that the young actress in question was one of his students, Lydia Martin, who had been on holiday in Europe during the film’s summer campus preview. Her “disappearance,” the rumors of her death, rumors of her social media being hacked with fake posts uploaded to her Facebook – all coincided neatly with the film’s showing, creating a real buzz for the film before Peter took it to the Telluride Film Festival.

He did love the visual medium as a form of communication, even though it often gave him a slightly skewed reputation amongst the faculty. His classes, however, were always full and the waitlist to get into his class was lengthy as well. There was even a bartering system amongst the students and staff, negotiating to get higher up on the registration and wait lists.

“—it’s pretty much just gay porn.”

“It’s quite an intellectual piece, once you get past the blatant sexual context,” Alan Deaton said, his voice low and steady.

Peter turned at the sound of the Dean’s voice, defending Peter’s work. He stared at the tall man whose back was turned to him, but Peter knew it was the new professor of architecture, Christopher Argent. The architect was something of a legend having won the Pritzer Prize three times in his lifetime; Peter had Googled the structures and found Argent’s work to be beautiful, practical, and a seamless fit into the environment. He admired the mission of Argent’s work; it was too soon to tell if Peter admired the man behind the vision.

But Argent also had a reputation for being brash, arrogant, and ruthless. From what Peter read of Argent’s interviews, he didn’t have much of a filter; and Peter wondered how his knowledge would translate into teaching students. Sometimes, an expert in the field often made the worst teachers, in Peter’s opinion.

“Come on, Alan, you can’t tell me that the Talia Hale School of Visual Design supports his work. I saw his last three movies – they’re great for shock value, but don’t tell me that they’re intellectual. Peter Hale is a total hack; he’s the Eli Roth of the Hale School.”

Peter grinned; he actually liked Eli Roth’s movies, so he wasn’t insulted. His films were brutal and gratuitous and playful at the same time – it spoke to something in Peter’s psyche.

“Chris, that’s not a fair estimation of Peter’s work. He’s not a conventional visual storyteller, but he’s fearless and his films are quite illuminating.”

“He’s a disgrace to the memory of his sister,” Argent said, shaking his head. “Talia Hale was a woman of class and integrity; she was the soul of Beacon Hills. We all felt the loss when she died. The Hales haven’t really recovered without her leadership.”

Peter felt his face flush in anger. He cleared his throat loudly and stepped towards them. “My sister **was** a woman of class and integrity, but she also believed in helping people find their unique creative voice and to pursue their own paths. She rarely made judgments on the context of the work; she always encouraged people to find that context from within. The reason why Talia’s name is on this department isn’t because the Hale family makes the biggest financial donations to the school, it’s because the School of Visual Design wanted to honor Talia’s ability to respect all creative endeavors, whether they’re worthy of the Pritzer Prize or exploratory gay porn.”

Dean Deaton smiled at Peter while Chris Argent simply stared at him, icy blue eyes meeting Peter’s in clear challenge and derision.

Not one to back down, Peter took a step forward until he was nearly toe to toe with Argent. “You don’t have to like my gay porn, _Christopher_ , but I’d advise you to keep your opinions to yourself. The Beacon Hills faculty is a close knit family, a pack, and while we’re liberal and open-minded, we don’t like it when _outsiders_ criticize one of our own.”

Argent sneered. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a friendly warning while you’re here in our territory,” Peter said, smiling politely at him. “I don’t expect that you’ll last more than a semester.” He gave a nod to Deaton. “Alan, it’s good to see you.”

Deaton gave an enigmatic smile and Peter turned away, making his way out of the faculty lounge. Peter was completely annoyed by Christopher Argent, that arrogant, entitled bastard. Never mind that he was attractive and sexy, that Peter would like to show him **exactly** what he learned during the filming of ‘Alpha Bondage’ – things that didn’t make into the film and had to be left on the cutting room floor because it was too _obscene_.

He made a scornful noise, shaking his head as he walked out of the building, heading for the parking lot to his car. Aside from the weekly faculty meetings in the department, Peter wouldn’t have to see Argent at all. It wasn’t like Peter wanted to get to know him – he’d met enough arrogant, entitled bastards when he took his documentary to Sundance Film Festival – and the UCBH campus was large enough that Peter wouldn’t really need to see Argent at all.

 


	13. Wolfsbane and Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter/Chris. A bit of dubcon, angst. Post-Allison's funeral.
> 
> Explicit. 
> 
> For moonlettuce (aka Claire)
> 
> Based on this Prompt: http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/94174559244

Chris spun the well-made metal with his fingers, examining the last of Allison’s specially crafted arrowheads.

He had buried her in a private ceremony, with just her closest friends in attendance. John Stilinski and Melissa McCall attended as well, standing close to their sons. Stiles couldn’t stop crying, but Scott stood calm and steady, standing stoically as Allison’s coffin was lowered into the ground. It was nothing like the paparazzi-fueled fiasco of Kate’s funeral, for which Chris was grateful. He wasn’t able to go through Allison’s things and gladly allowed Lydia and Melissa to take over. They kept her bedroom intact; and Lydia had asked permission to give some of Allison’s clothes to Malia.

The only things that Chris could bear to go through were Allison’s weapons, the tools that he had taught her to use in her mission.

“Hello, Christopher.”

He looked up to see Peter’s familiar silhouette in the light of the storage area. He really wasn’t in any mood to deal with whatever had brought Peter Hale off the sidelines. “I’m a little busy here. What do you want, Peter?”

“What I’ve always wanted.”

The werewolf growled as he took three steps into the storage area, grabbing the front of Chris’s shirt with clawed hands, and pressed him against the back wall.

“Peter!” He grabbed the werewolf by the shoulders…and saw that he was covered in blood. “What happened? Why is there blood everywhere? Is everyone okay—“  

He chuckled, leaning closer to brush the tip of his nose against Chris’s neck, inhaling deeply. “It’s not mine. Or anyone that matters, to be perfectly frank.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing that he didn’t deserve,” Peter said, pressing the front of his wide, muscular chest against Chris. His claws were still out and he raised his blood-soaked hand, showing the burgundy crusted tips to him, curling his fingers together to trace the claws down Chris’s neck. He stopped struggling and met Peter’s blue eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Christopher, I’m not here to kill you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You smell like Wolfsbane and misery,” Peter said, congenially. “Ironically, I know that scent all too well. You wear it, Derek wears it, and sometimes, pretty little Stiles wears it. I’m starting to develop a rather disturbing kink for that particular combination.” He licked Chris’s neck. “A real _taste_ for it.”

Chris held Peter by the shoulders, his hands going to Peter’s face, forcing the werewolf to look at him. “Hale. Peter! Get a grip—“

Peter growled, low and throaty. He grabbed Chris’s wrists and pinned them against the wall over his head, claws cutting into his skin. “Don’t test my control right now, Christopher, because you will find that I do not have any at the moment.”

“Listen to me—“

“Oh, I am listening to you. I can hear _everything_ you don’t say,” Peter cajoled, going back to licking Chris’s neck again with long, wet drags of his tongue on Chris’s skin. “ _Mmmm_ …right now, your heart is racing in your chest and you still stink of fear and misery, but you are definitely aroused.”

Peter slipped his thigh between Chris’s legs and pressed close. Chris choked back his groan, tugging to free his hands.

“Stay,” the werewolf teased, chuckling again. He crossed Chris’s wrists together and grabbed him with one hand, the other slipping down between them to palm at Chris’s hard cock. His hand was warm and knowing, claws dragging against the denim. “We’ve been teasing each other with this for years – decades, if we’re being honest.”

“Peter, you’re not in your right mind—“

“Clearly,” he said, amused.

Chris stared at him. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Peter met his gaze, some of the insanity ebbing away. He looked monstrous with the blood drying on his skin, but Chris could see the human in the werewolf returning to the surface.

“Christopher…you make me want to do things that I shouldn’t.”

He released Chris’s hands and Chris thought he’d gotten through to the werewolf, when he found himself turned around and shoved face first against the cement wall.

“Peter!”

Peter’s hand in the middle of Chris’s back pinned him in place. He tried to push against Peter’s hold on him, but he couldn’t budge the werewolf.

“Do I need to remind you to stay?” Peter said, chuckling softly.

Chris turned to see Peter examining the work table and picking up a small bottle of gun oil lubricant. He flicked up the top with his clawed thumb and grinned at Chris.

“Take down your pants, Christopher.”

“You don’t want to do this.”

“Do it or I’ll slice the jeans off of you.”

Chris took a shuddering breath, reaching for the front of his jeans. He undid them quickly and shoved the denim down his hips to his thighs. “If you’re planning to prep me with your claws, I will kill you as soon as you’re done.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, moving closer against Chris. “Give me your hand.”

He felt the cool liquid of the lubricant squeezed onto his fingers.

“Get yourself ready for me.”

Chris hesitated, wondering if Peter would stop if Chris truly didn’t want to do this. A part of him wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t want to stop. He reached behind him and carefully pressed his wet fingertips against his hole. He bit back his groan as he pushed two fingers inside of him, shivering from the sensation. It had been a long time since he touched himself like this – he was certain that the last man he’d slept with was Peter Hale. And he felt his cock harden even more, knowing that Peter was watching him fuck himself with his own fingers.

He felt Peter’s hand leave his back and he turned to see the werewolf tugging at the front of his dress slacks, letting them fall to the ground. His cock was hard, the foreskin was pushed back and the head was flared and red, already dripping with pre-come. Peter grinned, squeezing lube into his own hand and stroking it along his cock.

“That’s enough,” Peter said, gently pulling Chris’s fingers from out of him. He pressed his chest against Chris’s back, holding him in place, the heat of his body seeping through their clothes, warming Chris up. He felt the tip of Peter’s cock pressing against his ass and he groaned when Peter moved into him with a long, steady push.

“Fuck. Peter…”

Peter growled in reply, pulling his hips back slowly. Chris trembled, clenching at the feel of his sensitive rim dragging along the hard length and width of Peter’s cock, moving back into him and pulling out. Clawed hands gouged the cement wall by Chris’s head and Peter gave a powerful thrust, snapping his hips quickly.

Chris groaned, arching his back and pushing back against Peter, unable to move too much with the werewolf holding him against the wall. “Peter…Jesus…slow down!”

He gave a deep thrust and stilled, chest rising and falling quickly, leaning against Chris’s back. For a long moment, Chris only heard the sound of blood rushing in his ears and Peter’s guttural growls against the back of his neck. Carefully, Peter circled his hips and Chris closed his eyes, letting out a pleased whimper. He loved that, loved the feeling of being stirred. He sucked in a breath when he felt Peter’s cock stroke against his prostate, legs trembling from the intense pleasure.

Peter pressed his teeth against the skin of his neck, mouthing him, as he quickened his thrusts at the perfect angle. All Chris could do was reach up and hold onto Peter’s wrists, twisting his hips as Peter fucked him raw.

He reached down to curl his hand around his cock and Peter let out a warning growl and a sharp nip against his neck.

“Wait for me, Christopher,” he whispered, reaching down to curl his hands carefully around Chris’s hips. “Wait for me.”

Chris stroked his hand on his cock, the pleasure encompassing him as his ass throbbed around Peter’s cock. He heard Peter panting breathlessly behind him, hands tightening on him, and claws digging into his skin.

“Fuck, do it, Peter!” Chris husked, holding himself up with one hand on the wall. “Come on, come on!”

Peter grunted loudly with his thrusts, shoving Chris up and against the wall; Chris groaned, throwing back his head against Peter’s shoulder, hand squeezing tightly under the head as he came, dribbling over his fingers as Peter shuddered against him.

“Christopher…”

He opened his eyes and raised his head, turning to look at Peter. The werewolf looked…devastated; it was like looking into a mirror. He was certain that if he had better senses, he’d smell the misery coming off of him, too.

Peter didn’t say anything, but slipped his softening cock from Chris gently. He looked at the work table and grabbed a cleaning rag, wiping the come and lube dripping down Chris’s thighs. He pulled apart Chris’s fleshy cheeks, a thumb gently circling his used hole, and Chris hissed, pulling away, too sensitive to be touched.

They ignored each other, putting their clothes to rights. Chris took a fortifying breath and turned, facing Peter.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I took care of a mutual enemy.”

Chris nodded. “Is everyone all right?”

Peter flicked his eyes at Chris. “As well as can be expected.”

“This…”

_This can’t happen again._

_This shouldn’t have happened at all._

_This wasn’t something Chris needed in his life right now._

_This wasn’t healthy for either of them._

Peter smirked at Chris, seemingly reading whatever expression was on Chris’s face correctly. He turned away, the smirk dropping from his lips.  

“You must think I’m a monster.”

“I’m not sure what I believe anymore,” he offered; it was as honest as he could afford to get with Peter Hale.

Peter stared at him with very blue eyes. “I won’t bother you again, Christopher.”

He stood in the quiet of his storage area, watching wordlessly as the werewolf walked out of his life again.


	14. Come in from the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Peter/bb!Chris; Peter/Chris 
> 
> Warning: Could be slightly dub-con as Peter has to claim a magically de-aged Chris Argent.
> 
> Note: Re-edited and expanded. Originally posted to my Tumblr. 
> 
> Summary: Peter has to rescue Chris from the Fae Court by claiming him.

 [](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/sanfranskyline.png.html)

 

**San Francisco**

“Argent’s been captured and he’s being held hostage by the Fae Court,” Derek said, his eyes glowing a faint Alpha red as he stared meaningfully at Peter.

He was amused that his nephew was trying to throw his Alpha weight around; Peter, even as a packless werewolf, an Omega, was the least susceptible werewolf to an Alpha’s control. “We need you to cross the Threshold and get him back.”

Peter laughed, throwing back his head.

“What the hell is so funny?” Stiles said, stepping closer towards him.  

“You boys never cease to amuse me,” he said, leaning back on his leather couch, neatly crossing his legs. “Well, to answer your question, I am rather enjoying San Francisco; my presence here as a packless werewolf is, thankfully, largely ignored. Though, I suppose my notoriety as a Hale has more to do with that than anything else. Or it could be the fact that I am a very handsome and charming multi-millionaire. Well, enough about me, what was this about Argent?”

Stiles made a face. “Look, we don’t have time for this. We need your help, Peter.”

“Why would I help?” Peter said, smiling widely.

“Because someone has to go get him and none of us has ever been to the Other Side. Apparently, only someone who’s been marked by the Fae is allowed to cross over, so they won’t let us negotiate for him,” Stiles told him, sourly. “They’ll only accept **your** presence into the Fae Court since you’re still the official Hale representative.” He shook his head, disbelief written all over his pretty face, and looked at Derek. “I don’t understand why we can’t do it ourselves. You’re the Alpha and I’m the Emissary—“

“My mother appointed him when she became Alpha,” Derek said, softly.

“Even if he’s not part of the pack?”   

“Until Peter steps down and officially appoints a new representative for the Hale pack and the Beacon Hills territory, the Fae will honor only his status.”

Peter smiled widely, hiding the fact that he didn’t know with any certainty if the Fae Court would even welcome him back. But they didn’t need to know that.

Stiles turned to look at Peter, an earnest expression on his pretty face. “Would you consider stepping down and appointing someone else?”

“No.”

“Well…shit, not like that wasn’t predictable,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

“Let me ask my question again in a way that you’ll understand: what do I get for my assistance?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and threw up his hands into the air. “Jesus, Peter, we’re asking you for help! Why does it always have to be a trade?”

“Considering that I’m no longer welcomed in my own territory, I don’t feel a pressing need to assist in a matter that is clearly your own doing; nor do I want to risk my life for someone who would gladly leave me there if our situations were reversed,” he said, simply.

Derek let out a deep breath and sat down in the armchair across from him. “Uncle Peter, it’s been 12 hours since Argent was taken. That means that he’s been in the Fae world for a year. If we can’t get him back soon, he’s going to forget about the mortal world, who he is, and he’s going to be trapped there. Forever.”

Peter frowned, rubbing his fingers across his chin. “Maybe he’s better off in their world.”

“That’s not our decision to make,” Stiles said, coldly. “And in any case, Argent wouldn’t want that.”

“Are you certain? Or do you want to get him back because you need him more than he needs the pack?”

“We do need him; he’s a good ally—“

“He’s our friend. No one gets left behind.”

Peter stared at the young man, cocking his head. “The way that I was left behind? Or am I an exception to the rule?”

Derek frowned, shaking his head. “I get it, Peter, you’re mad. But be mad at **me** , it was my decision to ask you to leave Beacon Hills, don’t take it out on Chris.”

He laughed, meanly. “Don’t tell me that Christopher Argent is an _innocent_ bystander and that he didn’t factor into your decision. What on earth did you do to force the Fae to take him hostage in the first place? Normally, they are slow to anger and would rather ignore a transgression against them in the human world…so I’m curious to know what would’ve caused them to cross the Threshold themselves.”

Derek and Stiles exchanged guilty looks and Peter raised his eyebrows. He wanted to hear the story; it was only right that he know.  

Stiles sighed, his cheeks flushed, as he fell into the armchair next to Derek. “It was my fault. We were chasing after a rogue werewolf when I accidentally destroyed the Fae harvest altar in the woods. They took Argent in my place because…I’m not really sure why they took him instead, to be honest. There’s not a lot of text on the Fae and Deaton wasn’t all that forthcoming, though with him, that’s nothing new.”

“Because to take an Alpha’s mate would create a war.” Peter raised his eyebrow. He chuckled, darkly. “Oh Derek, did you finally come to terms with your unrequited love for the boy? Though he’s not a boy anymore, is he? An Alpha mated and anchored to an Emissary...how sweet it must feel to finally have control over all of your Alpha powers.”

He watched as the both of them flushed; Derek unable to meet Peter’s gaze and Stiles unable to stop staring at Derek, his mouth hanging open.

“Derek?” Stiles started, but before Derek could say anything, Peter interrupted. He wasn’t in the mood to watch their little love story unfold in front of him.

“What are the terms?”

“The Fae representative said that they would only agree to meet with you. You can escort…Argent’s mate into the Threshold.”

“And does Christopher have a mate?”

“No, he’s not seeing anyone and trust me, I asked around,” Stiles said, firmly. “You will not believe how many one night stands Argent has – like, he just walks up to people and goes ‘hey’ and—“

Peter growled, showing Stiles his teeth.

“No, he doesn’t have a mate, but you and Argent have _history_ …”

Peter stared at Derek for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “Get out of my apartment.”

“What history? What the hell—what just happened?” Stiles said, looking from Peter to Derek. “Peter—“

He stood up and stalked across the living room, going to the wide windows overlooking the San Francisco skyline below. It had been years since that _history_ ; there was too much bad blood between them. The last time he’d seen or _touched_ Chris was that night in the water treatment plant when he stabbed him into a concrete wall with the rebar.

“Uncle Peter,” Derek said, softly, walking behind him. Peter could see Derek’s reflection in the glass. “I know I have no right to ask for this, but Chris is in danger and there’s nothing I can do to help him, so it has to be you. Just remember that he’ll be lost to the Fae forever if you decide not to help him.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Okay, so we’re going for awkward silence now?” Stiles mumbled, letting out a noisy, impatient sigh.

Sometimes, Peter wondered if life wouldn’t be better for all of them over the Threshold. The Other Side. He loved the _depravity_ of the Fae Court; loved the politics and the power. He would never be one of them, but the lessons he learned under the Fae King’s personal tutelage left deep marks on his psyche. No one knew that it was the magic he learned on the Other Side that brought him back after Derek killed him and stole his Alpha powers.

As a human representative, he was given just enough of a taste to be able to exist in the Fae world, but not enough to truly belong. The alliance between the Hale pack and the Fae was built on the oldest, most primal magic of blood and tears and come; and Peter shivered as he remembered how afraid he was the first time he crossed over…and how he cried ugly, choked sobs when he had to leave the Fae world.

Derek let out a frustrated sound and grabbed Stiles by the arm, tugging him towards the door.

“No, wait! We can’t just leave, Derek! He has to help!” Stiles jerked his arm from Derek’s grip and ran back towards Peter. “Look, I don’t know what you and Argent have between you, and frankly, I don’t care. I just know that he’s been stuck there for a year – and god only knows what they’ve been doing to him – but we need your help, okay?” Stiles took a deep, fortifying breath. “Peter, I’m begging you to help us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Peter grinned, meeting Stiles’s eyes, regretting once again that he hadn’t bitten him when he had the chance. “Yes. Would you care to do it on your knees?”

He watched as the young Emissary considered it, not all that astonished that Stiles would swallow his pride in order to beg and humiliate himself in front of Peter to save his pack, whereas Derek would not and _could not_ as the Alpha.

“No,” Derek growled, eyes deep red. “Don’t even think about it, Stiles.”

“Pity, I would’ve liked to have seen that, just once,” Peter said, looking at Stiles.

“Still such a creeper,” Stiles murmured, though the tone was more amused and fond than disgusted.

He sighed, tapping his fingers against the glass. “Fine, I’ll help you recover your pet hunter. But after that, all debts are resolved between us and I demand my rights to Beacon Hills again.”

Stiles nodded urgently at Derek. “Come on, Derek, that’s the best deal of the night coming from him.”

“Fine. Let’s go, we’re wasting time,” Derek said, accepting Peter’s terms.

*** 

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/peterandbbchris.png.html)

 

**The Other Side**

Peter made the ritual offering of a few strands of his hair, a few drops of his blood, and a perfect white Lily. He whispered the secret words that would open the Threshold and grant him access to the Fae world; it was nothing so obvious as an actual portal, but a space where the light bent slightly at the wrong angle, creating a cascade of rainbow colors to spill across the forest floor. He closed his eyes and stepped into the light; and from one breath to the next, when he opened them again, he was on the Other Side.

To describe the Fae world as _lush_ was only glancing across the surface. There were immutable layers of the Fae world beyond mere decadence – dangers that would happily trap a naïve visitor to their world, even one of their own – and everything about the world was designed to please and to delight and to distract and to lure and to keep and to enslave.

Peter wondered what Chris Argent thought of the Fae world; if his hunter instincts against supernatural creatures itched under his skin. No doubt the Fae would find Chris fascinating. Here was a man who was born and bred to hunt and kill their kind, his sword hand stayed only by his moral attachment to a code of honor that bound no one else but him. The Fae would find that kind of nobility very attractive. They would’ve looked into his memories and poked at his losses and licked the tears of grief and pain from his cheeks. They would’ve enticed and seduced him with material things, with gems and kisses and promises and praise – whatever weakness they found in him, they would ruthlessly and playfully exploit to their pleasure. And to Argent’s as well.

He walked through the Fae woods towards the Fae King’s palace and his Court, the path still familiar after all these years, and wondered in what state he would find Argent – slave and prisoner – and if either of them would survive what Peter would need to do in order to claim the hunter and bring him back to the mortal world.

The Court beckoned and Peter walked into the main hall, the courtiers watching him with intense interest. He steeled his nerves as he faced the Fae King, sitting on his throne on the dais. He stood in front of the Lord of all the Fae realms and gave his best courtly bow, ignoring the murmurings of the courtiers behind him. The silence was thick in the enormous room and Peter controlled his breathing and the pace of his heart. He waited for the Fae King to signal that he could stand again. Sometimes, depending on the capricious mood of the Fae King, a subject would have to hold the position until the Fae King released them – or until he or she gave out from exhaustion, which would be seen as disobedience. Peter shivered at the thought of being punished in the Fae world; they were immortals, their pain would be for eternity. Peter would rather face the relief of True Death than to exist in a world of pain again.

“Good eve, Peter Hale,” the Fae King said, waving his hand to allow Peter to stand. “I bid you welcome. It has been a very long time since you’ve graced my Court. I am a little disappointed that you haven’t come to me sooner; and that it required that human child’s destruction of our harvest rites to bring you here where you are loved and were terribly missed.”

The courtiers murmured amongst themselves; some of them saying Peter’s name. Oh yes, there were a few Fae who would remember Peter well.

“My Lord,” he said, bowing his head. “I was…indisposed for a number of years; and did not know that my presence here would be welcomed again.”

“Yes, I sense darkness in you. But you have always had darkness within,” the Fae said, staring into Peter’s eyes. “But you are welcomed here. Won’t you show your love and give me a kiss?”

The Fae King was several millennia old in human years, but kept the form a 16-year old boy, still in the bloom of his youth. His hair was brown and long and curly, giving him a look of cherubic innocence. His skin was pale and unmarked by flaws; his eyes wide set and were a deep purple-blue color that didn’t exist in the human spectrum.

Peter knew that was a trick; a kiss given freely to the Fae King’s lips couldn’t be taken back without permission and would delay Peter’s return to the mortal world until the Fae King released him. But it would be rude to refuse; so Peter went down on one knee and pressed a kiss to the Fae King’s silk-covered knee.

The Fae laughed, reaching down to run his long fingers through Peter’s hair. “You are too clever. I never should have tutored you in our ways.”

“If I could stay, I would. However, I am here on the behest of my Alpha,” he took a deep breath and met the Fae King’s eyes. “I respectfully request the immediate release of Christopher Argent.”

“You’ve returned to my realm, and your presence here pleases me greatly, but you have neglected to bring the mate who would claim my newest subject,” the Fae King said, puzzled.

Peter smiled. “I’ve come to claim Christopher Argent, my Lord.”

“You?” The Fae said, chuckling. He stood on his feet and walked down the steps of the dais to stand in front of Peter, looking down at him. “You.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The Fae King met Peter’s gaze and smiled. “But I think Christopher rather enjoys being in my world. I suppose you would like to see him – what is it that you humans demand, proof of life?”

“I would be forever grateful if I could see him with my own eyes, my Lord.”

The Fae waved his hand and a moment later, Peter turned to see two slaves pulling back the curtains to reveal Christopher Argent.

There were more murmurings from the courtiers, low and pleased, as Chris’s presence reverberated through the main hall.

This was not what Peter was expecting. He was not tortured or enslaved; rather, the man looked quite at home in the palace.

He was wearing the royal colors of the Fae King – purple and blue – just a wisp of silk cloth around his hips, and younger than when Peter first met him, decades ago.

“Christopher,” the Fae King called, holding out his hand. “Join us.”

Chris strolled into the main hall with a loose, confident gait, and Peter stared at the naked, tanned skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders, long and slender limbs. His dark blond hair was cut short; the lack of vanity didn’t take away from his masculine beauty. Blue eyes peered at Peter curiously as Chris took the Fae King’s hand with a smile.

“This is Peter Hale, your mate. He’s come to claim you and take you back to the mortal world.”

“Christopher,” he murmured, stepping closer to him.

“Do I know you? I feel as if we’ve met before,” Chris said, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s been a long time,” Peter said, smiling at him. “In the human world. Do you remember your mortal life, Christopher?”

“Perhaps I chose not to remember,” he said, off-handedly.

“There are people who would like to see you return to them,” Peter told him, kindly.

Chris chuckled. “And do you also share their desire?”

“I do.”

He watched as Chris placed his hand on Peter’s chest. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here? With me?”

Peter shook his head; it was far too tempting. “I want you to come home with me.”

Chris looked at the Fae King. “And what do you say, my Lord?”

“It is your decision, Christopher,” the Fae said, gazing at him. “I do not have the power to keep you here if you are claimed.”

“By that one?” He murmured, smirking. “Do you think he could make me happier than you make me?”

“At least let me try,” Peter said, raising his eyebrow. “I’m sure there are things that I know that can give you pleasure.”

Chris traced Peter’s face with his fingertips. “There is no comparison; how could a mortal give me the pleasures that equal that of the Fae?”

“Because you’re my mate. Can’t you feel the bond?” He said, reaching out to caress Chris’s face with his hand. He pulled Chris closer, wrapping his arm behind his waist, and kissed his mouth, slipping his tongue into Chris’s mouth, tasting the nectar of the fruits and wines he must’ve taken before coming into the main hall. “I’m taking you home with me.”

Chris chuckled, deep and throaty. It wasn’t with the same depth of the older Chris, but the sound resonated in Peter. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Peter, stay for a little while, and enjoy my hospitality. Your mate is here and we have all missed you greatly,” the Fae King murmured, stepping towards them, putting his hands on their shoulders. “I’ve planned a small celebration for your return; stay with your mate and partake in my generosity.”

He knew that he couldn’t refuse without insulting the Fae King. Chris started to lick and nuzzle at his neck, his warm lips sliding across his skin. Peter closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy Chris’s affection – it had been so long since it was so freely given – and sighed, looking at the Fae King’s smug, pleased face.

“Thank you, my Lord. I could never refuse attending one of your parties, but please give me your word that when I wish to leave your realm, you will give me and Chris your permission to depart unhindered,” he said, carefully.

The Fae King smiled and nodded his consent. “I make you this promise. After the first toast.” He cupped Chris’s cheek with his hand. “Why don’t you take your mate to your chambers and prepare him for the festivities.”

Chris grinned, winking saucily at the Fae King. There was no doubt that Chris was one of his favorites. “If that’s your wish.”

“It is my wish that you please your mate.”

Peter watched as Chris bowed his head respectfully to the Fae King before turning to look at Peter, taking his hand. The younger man tugged Peter through the throne room to one of the outer hallways, his steps light and confident as he led him through the maze of the palace.

When they reached Chris’s chambers, Peter found himself pressed firmly against the wall, a warm and wet mouth covering his, an insistent and teasing tongue licking at him. Peter groaned, wrapping his arms around Chris, pulling him closer, his senses completely engulfed by him.

It had been so long since he felt this; it wasn’t the kind of affection that any amount of money could buy. But it still felt a little wrong. He knew he had Chris in his arms again…but he preferred the man, not the boy.

A hand slipped between them to cup over Peter’s hardening cock and Peter gasped, breaking free of the kiss and moving quickly away.

Chris gave him a frank look of disbelief. “Am I not pleasing to you?”

“I, uh, I just think that when you get your memories back, you’re going to kill me for touching you,” Peter said, honestly. “Plus, looking at you like this…so young…it’s a little awkward for me.”

“I sense that you’re lying to me, but I’m not sure why since I know you desire me,” Chris said, cocking his head slightly. “I doubt that age has ever stopped you from taking what you’ve wanted in the past.”

“I didn’t care about them the same way that I care about you.”

The young man stared at him, blue eyes narrowed slightly, and he waved his hand in front of his face. Peter saw the change in the light surrounding Chris and when he blinked, he was looking into the older, familiar face of Chris Argent again.

“Is this more to your liking then?”

Peter grimaced and ran a hand over his hair. “Yes…but…”

The knowing eyes swept over Peter. “Then what is the problem, Hale?”

For a moment, Peter wondered if Chris Argent was getting his memories back. But the clever look in the blue eyes told Peter that he was playing with Peter’s memories.

“You know we’re not going to get out of here if we don’t fuck at some point to prove that I’m your mate,” the older man offered, raising his eyebrow. He motioned to the plush bed with his chin. “Get your clothes off and get on the bed.”

Peter backed away as the hunter stalked him. “Christopher—“

“There needs to be an exchange of blood and spit and come for a claim to set properly,” Chris said, pulling off the silk from his hips. He tossed the fabric across the room and eyed Peter. “Come on, Hale, don’t get shy on me now. It’s not like I haven’t seen you.”

He started pulling off his leather jacket and tee-shirt, watching as Chris kept his eyes on him, licking his lips slightly. Peter kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks, tossing them on the floor. His hands hesitated on the button of his jeans, but Chris raised his eyebrow, lips curling into a smirk. It didn’t take long for Peter to decide to just get on with it. He shoved his jeans down his legs, kicking the denim off his ankle. He stood with his hands spread wide beside him.

“Mmm…” Chris murmured, walking around him, fingertips trailing along the soft skin of his lower back.

Peter rolled his eyes. “And do I meet with your approval?”

“Yes,” Chris said, one rough hand grabbing him by the back of his head, pulling him in for a hard kiss.

He found himself on his back on the bed, surrounded by the softest fabrics, as Chris straddled his hips, large hands sliding up and down his chest, over his shoulders, along his arms and down to his hands. He grabbed Peter by the wrists and pulled them up to land beside his head.

Chris reached for the large bottle by the bed, uncorking it. He grinned, tipping the top of the bottle over his own chest, the thick liquid sliding down through the light dusting of hair. Peter stared as his eyes followed the trails that the liquid left on Chris’s body, dripping down to land on Peter. He moaned, feeling the liquid touch him, like fingers caressing his skin where it pooled.

“It feels amazing, doesn’t it?” Chris said, dropping the bottle to the floor and running his slick palms up and down Peter’s body, curling around his neck, thumbs stroking his Adam’s apple.

“You feel amazing,” he said, looking up at Chris.

Strong hands slid down and curled around Peter’s cock, stroking him with the warm wetness of the liquid, thumbs working around the head and slipping under the edges of his foreskin to tease at the sensitive spot at the base. Peter hissed and gripped Chris’s knees, his claws and fangs coming out involuntarily.

“A werewolf?” He said, delighted surprise lacing his deep voice. “Does the Fae King keep you as his pet?”

Peter growled at him, his eyes flashing. “I’m no one’s pet.”

“Not even mine?”

He laughed. “I don’t think you could tame me.”

Chris gave him a beautiful smile, sliding up to his knees and grabbing Peter’s cock. “I’m going to tame you, Peter Hale.”

He slid down Peter’s cock, throwing his head back with a groan. Peter gritted his teeth, the roar of pleasure turning into a whimper in his throat. Chris chuckled at him, riding him slowly.

“You should’ve let me do this in my younger form. I think you would’ve liked it.”

Peter curled his hands into fists, feeling the tips of his claws digging into his palms. “I like this better.”

Chris braced his hand on Peter’s chest as he snapped his hips leisurely. “Do you, little wolf?”

“I’m your Alpha,” he growled, grabbing Chris by the hips and flipping them so that Chris was on his back, legs curled around Peter’s hips. He held him down and fucked him, giving Chris something hard to ride, giving it to him good. “Think you can tame me, Christopher?”

The older man chuckled, hands gripping Peter’s hair. “I already have.”

He growled, sinking his fangs deep into the meat of Chris’s shoulder. He tasted blood and felt Chris quiver under him, biting back his cry of pain. Peter released him and moved back on his hands, fucking into Chris with long, hard strokes, looking down at the handsome man.

“Mine,” he hissed, roughly.

Chris looked up at him, blue eyes wet, but he nodded and held on to Peter, moving with him urgently, chasing after his pleasure.

“Mine!”

“Yes, yours, fuck!”

He let out a pleased sound, falling over Chris to kiss him, nipping at his lips and sucking on his tongue. Chris whimpered against his lips, clinging to Peter with his arms and legs, thrusting back onto Peter’s cock, following his hard pace.

“ _Please_ ,” Chris whispered, and that pushed Peter over the edge, falling against him and burying his face against the side of Chris’s neck, shuddering through his pleasure. He moaned against his neck, one small part of his primal mind reminding him to make sure that Chris came with him. He reached down between them to curl his hand around Chris’s cock, stroking him quickly, giving his mate what he needed to come. “Yes. Yes, Peter, yes!”

Chris fell back against the bed, panting quickly, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. Peter stared down at him, back to his human nature, and he pressed a gentle kiss against Chris’s opened mouth. The older man stared up at him, blue eyes widening.

“Peter?”

It was the way that Chris said his name that alerted Peter that the hunter’s memories had returned. “You back with me, Argent?”

“Yeah,” he said, gasping. His hands curled over Peter’s shoulders, pushing him back. “Get off me.”

Peter slipped out of Chris carefully and sat back on the bed, watching him carefully. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah. Fae realm, got taken hostage. I’m going to kill Stiles when I get back,” Chris said, moving up on the bed and turning, putting his feet on the floor. He ran his hands over his head and winced when he touched the bite marks on his shoulder. “Shit.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, but I needed to claim you in order for the Fae King to release you to me.”

Chris didn’t say anything for the longest time. He took a deep breath, his hands curled on the edge of the bed. “What happens when we get back?”

Peter frowned. “I’m not quite sure. It depends on you.”

The hunter turned and looked at him, though he didn’t say anything. He sighed heavily and stared at the floor. “You think they’ll give me some clothes to wear? I’m not walking around wearing that see-through thing around the Fae Court.”

“I’ll have someone send up something for both of us,” he said, getting off the bed. “The Fae King has asked us to stay for the celebrations; but he’s promised to let us leave.”

Chris looked up and stared at him, his face neutral and eyes wary. “And how long are we required to stay to appease the Fae King?”

“Time doesn’t move the same here,” Peter said, looking at the hunter. “He’ll toast a drink to us and the celebrations will begin; we can leave at any time after that.”

“That’s fine,” Chris said, wearily. He grabbed the silk sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist in a makeshift sarong.

Peter walked to the door and looked outside, waving his hand at one of the awaiting slaves. “Would you bring us appropriate clothes to wear, please?”

The slave bowed lowly and hurried down the hallway. Peter took a deep breath and walked into the chambers to find Chris staring at his reflection in the mirror. He turned his shoulder to look at the marks in his flesh, touching them gingerly.

“The marks won’t be visible in the mortal world,” he told Chris, gently.

“But every supernatural creature will know that I am marked.”

“Yes.” Something in Peter was glad, though he knew he couldn’t express it in front of the hunter. “For what it’s worth, it’ll protect you from something like this happening again. Especially since it’s…”

“It’s your mark,” Chris finished, looking at Peter through the mirror’s reflection.

Peter gave a brief nod. “And because you also carry the favor of the Fae King.”

Chris gave a little smile, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

The slave returned carrying armfuls of soft fabrics, bowing as he offered them to Peter. He took the clothes and thanked the slave politely, dropping the clothes on the bed and going through the different shirts and vests and pants. He placed the clothes that were in the Fae King’s colors for Chris and then pulled on the creams and browns for himself.

“Why am I wearing all the blues?”

“Because the Fae King wants you to.”

Chris made a face. “Oh. Right. They’re his colors.”

He didn’t watch as Chris dressed, quietly and efficiently, tying the leather belt over the blue tunic. Peter glanced at him and blinked; the colors made the blues of his eyes stand out. He wondered if he could gift Chris with some blue shirts when they returned home.

“Quit,” Chris said, softly. “I feel like an ass enough already.”

“You’re beautiful.”

The hunter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get this celebration over with so we can get back. I can’t believe I’ve been here for a year…living like this.”

Peter nodded. “I promise I won’t delay our return.”

***

 

 [](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/nemeton.jpg.html)

 

**Beacon Hills Preserves**

When they stepped across the Threshold, it was on a sunny afternoon in the Preserves. Peter inhaled deeply and let out a sigh of relief at the scent of familiarity. It was good to be home.

Chris gasped and stumbled; Peter reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him. “Damn, that first step really is a fucking doozy.”

“The cross over is difficult for humans,” he said, letting Chris go.

The hunter looked around, getting his bearings. “Are we in the Preserves?”

“Yes. Come on, I left my car nearby. I can take you to Derek’s.”

***

The pack was waiting for them in Derek’s loft; they greeted Chris with hugs and handshakes. Derek walked towards the older man and placed his hand on Chris’s shoulder, squeezing it with affection and camaraderie. That was the most that Derek could offer with the painful history between them; Chris Argent wasn’t pack, but he was pack adjacent and an important ally.

The Alpha scented Chris and cocked his head, tugging at his tunic to look at his shoulder. Chris froze, his face falling neutral, but he didn’t say anything or pull away. The marks were invisible, but there was no doubt that Derek and the other werewolves would be able to smell Peter’s scent and claim on the hunter.

Discretion was the better part of valor; Derek frowned, but he nodded, accepting the claim. He turned and stared at Peter, but left well enough alone. Peter appreciated the consideration.

Stiles ducked his head and walked to Chris, hugging the older man. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything, Chris. God, I hope they didn’t hurt you while you were over there.”

“I’m all right, Stiles,” Chris said, patting his back firmly. “Is there anything to report?”

“No,” Derek said, shaking his head. “We found the rogue werewolf and Scott and Isaac took care of him. The territory is quiet once again.”

Chris let out a deep breath, weary and tired. “Good; because I’m going home to crash for a month.”

Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Some thanks would be appreciated for my role in his rescue.”

Derek stared at him for a long moment and then turned away. “I’ve given you back the rights to Beacon Hills, Uncle Peter, but don’t test my patience right now.”

He laughed, clapping his hands. “Well, this little reunion was darling, but I believe I have some packing that I need to do.”

Peter turned, heading for the loft doors, when Derek called out after him. “Uncle Peter. Don’t get into any trouble while you’re here; don’t make me go after you.”

He rolled his eyes and sneered at them. “Stay out of my way and I’ll stay clear of you and your pack.”

“Can we get that in writing?” Stiles yelled as Peter strolled out into the hallway.

***

**San Francisco**

**Two Months Later**

 

Despite Derek’s approval to return to Beacon Hills, Peter was in no hurry to go back. He merely wanted his rights to his home; he was better off alone in San Francisco. It wasn’t as if Derek would allow Peter to be part of the pack; things were too strained between them. He knew that in time, the family blood bond with Derek would wear him down and he wouldn’t be able to move against Peter so easily again; Scott would never learn to trust him; Stiles would be the first to kill him and put him down if he believed that Peter was a true threat to the pack; and the others would give Peter a wide berth, keeping him on the edges of a pack that didn’t want him. If he were to be a packless Omega werewolf anyway, then the city afforded him enough safety and entertainment for a lifetime.

But life in the city was lonely.

Peter leaned against the window, looking out at the living, breathing city and its inhabitants. He was charming and wealthy enough to create a new circle of friends, but he didn’t believe it would be worth anything meaningful. Peter was too much of a loner; too much of a manipulative player to truly have friends.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he felt a chill down the length of his spine. He growled, turning to stare at the door of his apartment, feeling the presence of someone familiar.

Chris Argent.

Peter crossed the room and opened the door, staring warily at the hunter on his doorstep looking a little lost and a bit sheepish. “Well. Christopher Argent. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Chris stared at him and then sighed, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground.

“You might as well come in,” he said, opening the door and walking back into his living room. He stopped at the small wet bar and poured them both a glass of whiskey. He handed him a glass and motioned for Chris to sit down on the couch, taking the armchair across from him.

And then he waited; he wanted to know what the hunter was doing so far from home. And in Peter’s apartment, of all the places that Chris could be.

“Derek asked me to deliver a message,” Chris began, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s been a couple of months and he was wondering why you hadn’t returned to Beacon Hills.”

Peter gave him a wry grin. “I only wanted my rights to the Hale territory. I know he would rather that I didn’t return.”

“He wants you to come back to the pack.”

He cocked his head, utterly surprised. “I’m surprised that you’re the messenger. In a case like this, his Emissary would be here, delivering the invitation.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, taking a deep breath. “You have a long way to go to build trust; they know that you’ll want the power to be an Alpha again, but Derek is willing to give you another chance, Peter. It’s the last one you’ll ever get from him. You have to swear fealty to Derek, to not attack him for his power and to protect the pack with your life and with your knowledge.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Pack Elder? Hmm…intriguing.”

Chris stared at him for a long moment, but then looked away. Peter let the silence hold between them for a few minutes.

Under Talia, Peter was trained to be the pack Enforcer. She didn’t believe that he had enough wisdom to be a proper advisor or pack Elder. So he was trained for war; to cultivate allies; to spy on enemies. His strength was violence and victory, not peaceful negotiations.

“To be honest, Christopher, I don’t know if I have it in me to be good.”

He watched as Chris nodded, setting his glass on the coffee table. He stood up and walked towards Peter, looking down at him as he stood beside the armchair.

Before he knew what the hunter was doing, he felt Chris’s hand in his hair, pulling his head back, a kiss falling on his mouth.

“You’re a werewolf who needs his mate and anchor. I know I’m both. There’s nothing that you can hide from me; no secret plan to put into motion against the pack.”

It was true; which was why Peter had stayed away.

“I’ve gotten very good at hiding my true intentions. And one day, I may take the opportunity when Derek turns his back to me.”

Chris met his gaze. “Then you wouldn’t last very long as an Alpha because I’d make sure to put you down myself.”

Peter felt his lips crook into a smile. “I find that appealing.”

“I figured you would,” he said, wryly.

Peter thought it was ironic that an Argent would safeguard the Hale pack. After everything that they had gone through, their families at war with each other, and that it would come down to this: a hunter protecting a werewolf pack, an anchor and mate of a werewolf.

He reached up and tugged Chris down, kissing him softly, tasting the whiskey on Chris’s lips. He let his defenses down and felt the bond between them flare and hold secure, nothing but death would ever separate them now.

“Maybe it’s time for me to come in from the cold, Christopher,” he said, softly. “And it’s been quite cold out here on my own.”

“I know, Peter,” Chris said, nodding. “I know.”

 

THE END.  


	15. A Dangerous Liaison (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW Modern Regency AU. 
> 
> Future Petopher  
> Future Sterek   
> Possible Future Sheriff/Laura Hale  
> Implied Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa Mccall 
> 
> More about the modern regency world from Part 1 (Chapter 10).

**_Ten Years Later_ **

 

“What do you think of this dress?” Laura said, standing in front of the floor length mirror, examining her reflection with a critical eye. “Does it give the right kind of message?”

Peter sprawled across the end of her bed, flipping carelessly through a women’s fashion magazine. It was over 800-pages long but about one third of it was actually on fashion trends, the rest slick and beautiful pages of marketing and advertising of fashion-related products.

“It depends entirely on the message.”

He rolled his eyes and flipped the glossy pages closed, looking curiously at his niece.

“How about ‘ _I’m not a little girl anymore and I’m ready to be your wife_.’ Do you think this dress sells that message?”

Peter blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m 29-years old and I’m a full-fledged member of the Peerage. I’m at that perfect age where I should be a lady of the manor.”

“You’re lady of _this_ manor,” he reminded her. And until Peter decided to get married, the eldest woman of his household held that position.

“Yes, but it’s _your_ manor, not mine. Besides, I hate the fact that you won’t let me redecorate. I’m so tired of your boring, everything-must-be-neutral, masculine tastes. You need a woman’s touch.”

Peter snorted. “Bite your tongue, young lady.”

Laura laughed, good-naturedly. “Anyway, you need to start training Cora to be lady of the manor. And I need to move out and get a life of my own.”

“Laura, you have more options available to you than to be someone’s housewife.”

“I know that, Uncle Peter, but I’ve always wanted a family of my own. I don’t see why I have to wait. I can have both – family and career.” She smoothed down the front of her dress. “What do you think? Do I look like a young, dynamic, mature woman of my status?”

Peter smiled. “You always do, darling.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she said, thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m _too much_ of a woman of my status. I’ve never rebelled; I’ve never caused scandal – and we’ve had enough with your dirty past and with Derek’s stupidity and oh, by the way, you’re going to have your hands full with Cora, just so you know – so maybe everyone takes me _too_ seriously. I’ve always been good girl Laura Hale.”

“That’s utter bullshit,” he said, standing up and walking towards her. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “Your reputation is beyond reproach; you bring pride to the Hale name, which is something that I’ve never been able to do properly.” He kissed the back of her head. “Your parents would be so proud of you, Laura.”

Laura smiled, blushing slightly. It made her look younger than her years, taking away some of the burden of being a Hale heiress. She was a modest and humble young woman, a Duchess and respected lady of the Peerage. She elbowed him playfully and rolled her eyes.

“Anyway…so what do you think of this dress.”

 “It’s a beautiful color on you,” he said, concentrating on the simple but elegant cut of her burgundy sheath dress. The scoop neckline was low but not crass; the length was right above the knee. She wore a pair of dark neutral heels to complement the dress. It was obviously well designed and well made; the tailoring was perfect and suited to Laura’s tall and regal frame. She looked so much like her mother – Peter’s sister, Talia – and reminded him so much of Talia at the same age. She carried so many of Talia’s mannerisms, there were days when Peter thought she was channeling her mother.

“Should I put on a belt with it?”

“No, less is more, darling. Besides, you’ll ruin the tailoring.”

Laura bent over, eyeing her own cleavage and Peter sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I should wear the other dress, the one with the lower neckline.”

“Which one?”

“The pretty blue one, the silk Lagerfeld—“

“The one that looks like you’re wearing a silk handkerchief? God, no, please don’t. I hate that dress; I can’t believe I haven’t ripped it to shreds yet.”

“But it has the best cleavage,” she said, laughing softly.

“Being tawdry is not a fashion statement, no matter the designer’s name on the tag. You can be sexy but still look appropriate,” he told her, sitting down in a nearby armchair and crossing his legs. “Why are you so interested in my opinion on your dress? It’s just a cocktail party.”

Laura tugged her long dark hair into a loose bun and tilted her chin, giving herself a serious look. “Yes, but it’s the cocktail party that will launch the Season and I have my eye on someone this year.”

That got Peter’s attention. “Oh?”

“Lord Stilinski isn’t dating anyone right now—“

“Isn’t he a little young for you?” He said, frowning. The Stilinski heir was known to be too smart and too clever for his own good; though Peter appreciated a good wit. Young Stilinski – what was his name again, something unpronounceable – was reputed to be loyal, he had a backbone and didn’t scrape and bow to anyone, and, whispered in certain circles, that even though he was still a virgin, he had the prettiest cocksucking mouth. “And doesn’t he have that ridiculous nickname? I believe he’s just graduated from college and—“

“I’m talking about Stiles’s father, John Stilinski.”

Ahh, yes, Stiles – ridiculous nickname. Peter chuckled. “Isn’t he a little _old_ for you?”

Laura rolled her eyes and turned, hands on her hips. “Uncle Peter, John Stilinski is a handsome, virile man in his prime. In his _prime_ , Uncle Peter.”

Lord John Stilinski was the respected Sheriff of Beacon Hills, a man that Peter admired greatly. John was a good friend to the Hale family – and if truth were known, he had saved Peter a great deal of his reputation in the past, quietly dragging Peter out of whatever mess he’d created for himself, discreetly taking Peter’s disgruntled lovers away and counseling them through their anger. He was a widower who had lost his lovely wife, Claudia, only a few years after their son was born. Though John never flaunted his love affairs, Peter knew that John had an “understanding” with Lady Melissa McCall.

“You do know that he’s seeing Lady McCall.”

She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her long lengths. “Of course, but if he was serious about her, he would’ve married her by now. They’re just very good friends with benefits, according to Stiles.”

Peter chuckled. “Have you taken young Stiliniski under your wing, then?”

“It pays to build certain alliances early on in the game,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that what you’ve always taught us?”

“I think he’s a good man and a good match for you. If you’re serious about pursuing this, then I give you my blessing,” he said, standing from the armchair and walking towards her.

Laura gave him a hug and laughed. “Thanks, Uncle Peter. You are going to help me get him, aren’t you?”

“If I must.” Peter gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. “I suppose I’ll have to host a number of special dinners for the Stilinskis.”

She smiled at him, her eyes widening. “Ohmygod, I nearly forgot! Derek’s coming home today, isn’t he?”

“I sent Cora to the airport to collect him, they should be home in a few hours.”

“This is perfect! I’m so glad that he’s finally coming home, just in time for the Season. I know everyone is going to want to see him and talk to him – and I have the perfect person to introduce him to,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Maybe you’ll give him a few days to unpack and get settled in before you start pimping him out to all of your friends,” he suggested, lightly.

“Nonsense! The best thing to do is get Derek out there right away. If we waited for him to get his ass moving, he’d sit and stew in his room the whole Season,” she said, going to her bag and pulling out her iPhone. “I’m going to call everyone and let them know. He better come to the cocktail party tonight or I’m going to shave his eyebrows when he goes to sleep.”

Peter laughed, walking out of her bedroom into the hallway. His mirth ended and he sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets, wondering if it was a good idea to bring Derek back. It had been ten years since Peter sent Derek away to their family in London with explicit instructions to their cousins that Derek needed to be watched and kept busy with school and sports and anything else except love affairs. The first few years, their cousins reported that Derek was having difficulty adjusting, but over time, Peter was pleased to learn that Derek had grown out of his difficult teenage angst and was enjoying his life in London, making new friends, traveling through Europe, and excelling in a number of sports. He knew that Derek stayed in touch with Laura and Cora – the girls would give Peter updates of their own – but Derek never reached out to him. That was to be expected; he knew that Derek would hold him responsible for what happened.

But none of that mattered because he had saved Derek from further heartbreak and ridicule from the Peerage. He was certain Laura told Derek that Peter had reported Kate Argent to the authorities. Her public bragging and exploitation of a minor to the tabloids were all the evidence that was needed to indict her. Her family’s wealth and influence kept her out of jail, but she was no longer welcomed in the state of California. And with the count of statutory rape of a minor on her record, Kate Argent was not welcomed into many of the other states either. The last Peter heard, Kate’s older brother had sent her to their family in Australia, where her passport was taken from her for a period of 35 years.

He was glad that Derek was coming home; he missed his nephew greatly. Peter could only hope that Derek would forgive his heavy-handedness and realize that what Peter did was help him. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect but he was happy to have his family home and under one roof again.

***

The cocktail party before the start of the Season for the Peerage wasn’t a formal affair. It was held in the ballroom of the Omni International Hotel. The Hales had hosted the cocktail party for the last 164 years. Back in the heyday, it was considered a formal function, full of rigorous rules of Society. Under Peter’s hosting duties, he had eased some of the formality, offering instead an opportunity for families of the Peerage to meet in a less intense environment, where they could be free to just have a nice time.

Of course, their Society didn’t stop at _having a nice time_.

There were quite a number of unspoken rules before the opening of a Season. There was the unofficial ranking of families by their titles, statuses, and wealth. There were the cunning and ruthless power plays between rival parents, trying to make the best matches for their children.

It was the predatory hunt for a spouse, all under the guise of civilized manners.

Peter found it quite hilarious; and that he was at the epicenter of it all.

After greeting the families of the Peerage, Peter settled in by the bar, watching the games begin. He sipped at his drink, watching the many little dramas unfolding throughout the room.

Laura made a bold opening move, walking right up to John Stilinski without an escort. If it were anyone else, the vultures would’ve ripped her apart for that kind of obviousness; but Laura’s sterling reputation and her place as the Duchess of Beacon Hills afforded her protection from the Peerage. John looked rather stunned by her attention, but he smiled warmly at Laura and stayed near her pretty much the whole night. Peter made a reminder notification on his phone to invite John and Stiles to his home for dinner.

He watched as Melissa, with her son Scott acting as her escort, walked towards John and Laura. Lady McCall was poised and calm, politely friendly towards Laura, but Peter could tell that Lady McCall was preparing herself to let John go. Peter had no doubt that they would remain friends, but the “understanding” would have to cease. Despite Laura’s young age, Peter was proud to see that she also kept her poise, chatting away with Lady McCall in a friendly manner, while Scott told a story to the Sheriff that made them both laugh. Then while Scott was regaling Laura with another story, Peter saw John and Melissa share a brief exchange of glances that no one else saw; and Peter noted with approval when Melissa gave a slight nod to Laura and John gave Melissa a soft smile, moving closer to Laura with his hand on her back, suggesting that they go look at the dessert table.  

Peter sipped his drink, swirling the amber colored liquid in his glass. For the next three months of the Season, Peter would get to watch the dance of their peculiar mating practice begin. And even from the inside, he always felt like an outsider.

“I see you’ve taught your niece the usual Hale machinations.”

Peter smiled at the familiar deep voice and turned to see Lord Christopher Argent standing nearby, staring at him. “Good evening, Lord Argent.”

He watched in amusement as Chris fought back his sneer. “Lord Hale.”

“I didn’t know that you and your family would attend Season here in town,” he said, cocking his head. “You’re usually in Paris this time of year.”

Chris gritted his teeth and then sighed, looking away. “My daughter asked that she attend the Season in Beacon Hills this year. It seems that she is interested in someone here.”

Peter followed Chris’s gaze across the room and stifled his laugh when he saw Allison Argent talking to Melissa and Scott.

Oh, now wasn’t that an interesting match.

“Hmm…then I wish you all the best,” he said, raising his glass to toast Chris Argent. “Welcome home, Christopher. I hope to see you and Allison at the First Ball.”


	16. A Life of His Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Chris attempts to make amends with Peter, who continually rebuffs him; until he gets an opportunity to have the visionary filmmaker in a position where Peter can’t ignore him.
> 
> Rating: NC17 (It's Petopher, so duh! LOL)
> 
> Warning: Peter is a cock slut so…it’s Peter/Chris endgame, but there are Peter/cocks. Enjoy! 
> 
> This is a continuation/verse of Chapter 12: The Talia Hale School of Visual Design

Christopher Argent was familiar with backrooms.  

His work took him to the major cities of the world and he never accepted work without meeting his client first – and a client meeting never guaranteed that Chris would be interested in the work or their money; wealthy clients who could afford his services fell over themselves to take him out to swanky clubs and restaurants with waitlists, set up after hour tours of museums, or exceptionally rare tours of privately held collections never seen by the public.

The jet set life was fascinating and rife with fun games, but Chris wasn’t easy to impress. He grew up in a world of privilege – boarding schools and trust funds and private tutors and unlimited access to expensive toys and the prestige of the Argent name. His father made sure that Chris was prepared for any situation from at a young age, to feel at ease in a board room…or make an arms deal with the Yakuza.

Chris never regretted giving up his position with Argent Arms International; his younger sister Kate stepped into the CEO role, her aggression and competitiveness finally focused on something that gave her direction and immense success, finally showing their father that she was the rightful heir to the Argent weapons business. Chris sometimes wondered what path Kate would’ve taken if she had to live under Chris’s shadow; just where would she have directed her ruthless cunning and cleverness?  

While Kate preferred the power and champagne and accolades, Chris preferred bars with peanut shells on the floor, a ten buck game of darts with the locals, beers over wines, and back rooms over silk sheets.

The games and people were getting tedious; he was tired of entitled clients who thought buying his services meant buying him. So when the opportunity to teach at UCBH came up, Chris accepted it on the spot, told his staff to keep the business going for the duration of the academic year, and packed his bags and drove to the campus.

What he hadn’t considered was the _small town-everyone knows your business-tightly knit community of academics_ world that he was stepping into; a world that was wholly new to him. In this world, he was the odd man out and Peter Hale’s threat rang all too true. Within days, the faculty and staff had already heard of the “confrontation” between Chris and Peter; how Chris had “offended and insulted” the filmmaker; how Peter had “stood up” to the pretentious outsider.

Chris rolled his eyes; he had enough social savvy to know that he had to nip this in the bud. He reached out to Peter Hale who gleefully rebuffed him at every turn with sharply polite words, but with a leer spread across his lips.

_“No, thank you, Mr. Argent, I would rather not meet you for coffee to discuss any of my film projects.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent, I would rather not have dinner with you tonight or any other night.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent, I really don’t feel that we have enough in common for random chit chat.”_

_“No, thank you, Mr. Argent.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent.”_

_“No.”_

That little shit.

That _charming_ little shit with his _pretty_ blue eyes and his _clever, knowing_ smirk.

So after a couple of months of this bullshit, Chris needed to blow off some steam. He drove two towns over to the dirtiest, nastiest club with a back room, determined to find a man who looked like Peter Hale, put him on his knees, and fuck that smirk off his lips.

Chris prowled through the dark back room, listening to the slick sounds and rough moans. He looked at faces, looked for _someone_ who could take the edge off. His nerves hummed and his skin felt thin and tight. His cock was hard under his jeans, the smell of sex and come triggering his primal instincts. He was on the hunt, keen eyes looking for a certain set of shoulders, a pretty face, and a haughty attitude. Someone that he could knock down a peg or two without feeling guilty, without feeling obligation, without feeling anything except getting his cock sucked and getting off.

Further in the back corner, there was a small group of men standing around, hands in their pants. Chris couldn’t see what was going on, but he knew it had to be the cock slut on duty. He moved through the crowd to see the cock slut on his knees, his back turned to Chris. His head bobbed in controlled movements while both of his hands were occupied. The man on the left, impatient for his turn, curled his hand behind the cock slut’s neck and pulled him off the man he was sucking to guide the cock slut to his own cock.

Chris looked at the man on his knees – broad expanse of shoulders, thick neck, narrow waist, plump ass under his black jeans, meaty thighs – from the back, the cock slut fit the physical criteria of what Chris was looking for tonight. He stepped towards the group and took his place, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding down the zipper, fisting his cock slowly with his hand as he watched, waiting for his turn.

The men came on the cock slut’s face, smearing their come on his cheeks. The cock slut chuckled throatily, leaning his head back.

Chris _recognized_ the cock slut’s laugh; he’d heard it echoing down the hallway, in the lounge, and directed at Chris’s expense. His hand tightened on his cock, feeling a surge of something hot and delicious forming in the pit of his belly. A low twisting and turning of want and…something darker, something a little too close to payback for every time Peter rejected him.

Peter Hale was the cock slut on duty.

“All right, boys, you next three,” Peter said, teasingly, waving the next three towards him. He picked up a small package of wet wipes and cleaned his face and neck. “And remember the rules – don’t pull my hair and don’t even think about coming in my mouth.”

There was friendly banter, but Chris knew that they’d all follow Peter’s rules. You didn’t piss off the cock slut on duty if you wanted your cock wet.

He watched as Peter took the first cock into his mouth, eyes closing as he let out a soft moan. It was short but thick, stretching the corners of Peter’s mouth as he allowed the man to fuck it open, a slow slide, like the man was savoring it.      

It was obvious that Peter savored it; his right hand dropping between his thighs to caress the head of his cock, tugging the tight foreskin over the head and then back down.

_“Yeah, stroke that pretty cock, boy.”_

_“Suck him good.”_

_“Fuck his mouth.”_

Chris tuned out the voices of the men getting sucked and stroked, keeping his gaze on Peter’s face, his wide mouth stretched around the different cocks, how much he seemed to enjoy being on his knees.

_“Jesus, oh fuck me, yes,”_ the man moaned, his fingers carding gently through Peter’s hair.

Peter pulled off and laughed, looking up at the man as he moved on to the next cock, licking the tip and wrapping his lips around the head, sliding down half way and pulling back, then going all the way down so his nose was pressed against the man’s belly.

_“Baby, let me take you home,”_ the second man said, shakily.

Chris swallowed hard, wondering if Peter would pick someone and leave with them later.

_“Give you whatever the fuck you wanted.”_

There was no doubt that people were willing to offer Peter anything he wanted; and the smug look on Peter’s face as he pulled off the second man’s cock said it all.

Peter finished them off, stroking each man off individually; his head was tilted back and his eyes narrowed seductively as he cajoled them to come on him.

He cleaned himself off with another wet wipe and sat back on his heels, stretching out the muscles in his neck. He picked up a water bottle and took a deep drink, head back, throat stretched long as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing obscenely – putting a fucking show. He finished his water and smiled, checking out his audience, and then looked up at the men next in line, his eyes meeting Chris’s steady gaze.

“Oh,” Peter murmured, blinking slowly as the smile dripped off his face. “This is a surprise.” He ran his hand over his mouth and down his chin, blue eyes sharp as he stared up at Chris, a little sneer twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Wait your turn, Mr. Argent.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded and stepped aside, leaning against the nearby wall.

“Well, boys, this was fun, but it’s last call,” Peter said, chuckling as the remaining men murmured their disappointment. Chris watched them carefully as they walked away, just in case any of them intended to show their disappointment in Peter’s decision in a more physical manner. But none of them pressed the issue; a few men leaned close to Peter, whispering something in his ear, causing Peter to grin, a slow shake of his head.

He watched as Peter picked up the pack of wet wipes and his dark tee-shirt from the floor, getting to his feet. The younger man sauntered towards Chris, his face hidden in the darkness. He stood close, just an inch or two between them, and Chris could still smell the tang of come lingering on Peter’s skin. He smelled used and dirty.

Wordlessly, Peter dropped his shirt and the wet wipes on the floor and slowly got to his knees, hands gripping Chris’s hips and tugging down his jeans to his knees. He met Chris’s eyes and licked his lips; there was nothing salacious in that brief movement, but anticipation churned in Chris’s belly, knowing that he was going to feel that clever tongue on his cock.

Two months of Peter telling Chris to basically ‘fuck off’ and this night, he’d get Peter Hale to suck his cock. He knew the rules: a man walked into a club like this and his name and his money meant nothing; this was about sex and getting off, it wasn’t about getting to know someone. It wasn’t even about getting someone’s name. And if these men should meet out in the world, outside the back room, no one acknowledged it. So if this was a one-time thing, Chris wasn’t going to pass it up.

Chris reached down and cupped the side of Peter’s face, thumb brushing over the neatly trimmed goatee. He inhaled sharply when Peter turned his head, sucking Chris’s thumb into his wet mouth, tongue tracing along the pad of his thumb as blue eyes looked up at him.

He stroked Peter’s tongue gently, but pulled his thumb out of his mouth, wanting to bury his cock inside Peter’s hot mouth. He grabbed the side of Peter’s head with both hands and tugged him closer, biting back a moan when Peter didn’t hesitate, lips wrapped around the head and sucking him in deep.

“Jesus,” he muttered, inhaling sharply as Peter didn’t bother with any preliminaries and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him in even deeper. He choked on his breath when he felt his cock slip along the flat of his tongue, felt a little click, the head fitting neatly in the back of Peter’s throat. “Fuck…”

Peter swallowed around him and Chris felt his legs tremble. He locked his knees, hands going to Peter’s strong shoulders, gripping him tight. He was nearly bent over the man, thrusting sharp, controlled movements in and out of the tunnel of his throat, the muscles squeezing around his head.

Roughly, Peter pushed him back against the wall, holding him there as he pulled off to catch his breath. Chris curled his hand behind Peter’s neck, caressing him gently, apologetically, letting Peter set the pace. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasure of feeling Peter’s mouth moving along his cock, tongue slipping under and around the head, flicking across the slit and pulling a moan from deep within Chris’s chest.

He looked up and watched Chris; enjoying the way that Chris was panting loudly now, the way Chris couldn’t hold back the sounds of pleasure and need falling from his mouth. Peter dragged his lips along the shaft and sucked on just the head and Chris trembled, grabbing fistfuls of Peter’s soft hair.

Peter let out a sound of displeasure and pulled off of Chris’s cock entirely, staring up at him. “Let go of my hair, Mr. Argent.”

“Fuck, don’t call me that,” he said, smoothing his fingers against Peter’s scalp and removing his hands. His gripped them into fists and pressed them on his thighs. “Peter—“

“You touch me with your hands again and I’ll stop.”

He nodded, looking down at the younger man. “Please.”

“That’s more like it,” Peter said, sneering up at him.

“Peter—“

“Shut up,” he hissed, curling his hand around Chris’s cock and squeezing hard just under the head. Chris groaned, falling back against the wall. “Just shut up and take whatever I give you, Mr. Argent.”

Chris closed his eyes and sank into the feeling of Peter’s warm mouth covering him again, sucking him leisurely, teasing him with pleasure on his terms. He breathed out and pressed his palms against the wall, looking down to see Peter watching him, lips stretched around him. Chris shuddered at the feel of his bottom lip dragging along the head.

Peter smirked and sank down to the root, choking slightly. He pulled back to take a breath and then moved slower down Chris’s length, the flat of his tongue sliding like a snake along his hard flesh. When he had enough making Chris pant and moan, he pulled back and then spit into the palm of his hand, wrapping it around Chris’s cock and stroked him with long, sure pulls, popping just the head back into his mouth, the suction so tight that it flickered somewhere between pain and pleasure.

It wouldn’t take much longer; Chris could feel his balls tightening, that he’d have a long, hard come from this.

“Peter, gonna come,” he warned, breathlessly.

But Peter wasn’t going to pull off; and Chris grunted thickly when he felt Peter’s tongue brush against the slit, tasting him, sucking the come right out of him.

“Fuck…yes, please, don’t stop,” Chris whispered, panting noisily.

Peter stared up at him as Chris filled his mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily as he came, trying to push more of his cock into Peter’s mouth, wanting to go deeper.

Gently, he licked Chris clean and then pressed his forehead against Chris’s hip, breathing harshly. Chris knew the rules were still in place, but he wasn’t going to just let it end like this. He leaned down and grabbed Peter under his arms and pulled him to his feet, turning so that Peter was against the wall now. He reached between them and could feel Peter’s cock hard and hot and leaking, curling his hand around him and jerking him off with quick strokes, thumbing the head to hear Peter moan.

He leaned towards Peter to kiss that smart mouth, but Peter turned away, eyes narrowing and daring him to try it again. Chris grabbed Peter’s wrists and pinned them over his head, holding both of his wrists in one hand, reaching for Peter’s cock with the other to finish him off.

Peter stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth parted slightly. Chris figured that if Peter didn’t like it, he could easily break out of Chris’s hold, but there was something almost _shy_ in Peter’s expression, something that Chris should pay attention to…it was just on the edge of his mind, but he’d deal with it later. Right now, he wanted Peter to come and to come at his touch.

“Hard all night sucking cock,” he whispered against Peter’s ear. “I’m going to get you off, baby, and I’m not even going to make you beg for it.”

_Not this time_ , he didn’t add.

The younger man moaned, arching his neck, pushing his chest against Chris. He could feel Peter trembling against him, soft whimpers breaking from his throat, and he tightened his hold and quickened his strokes, wanting to see Peter come for him.

Despite his diva-like personality, Peter was quiet when he came. Or maybe he didn’t want to give away anything to Chris. He couldn’t stop staring at the flush on his skin, the way that Peter gritted his teeth, the way that Peter wouldn’t meet Chris’s eyes.

“Fuck,” Peter hissed, shivering through the aftershocks, pushing Chris away. He glared at him for a long moment, both of them breathing heavily, before Peter broke eye contact and pulled his jeans together, tucking his still hard cock inside. He picked up his shirt and tugged it on forcefully; Chris heard the sound of seams ripping apart in Peter’s haste to get dressed. To escape.

“Peter—“

“Fuck you.” Peter said, finally meeting his eyes. There was something quite stunning about Peter in this state – desperate and furious and dazed with sated pleasure – and Chris wanted to see that look on Peter’s face again.

He watched as the younger man stalked through the crowd, back tense and his usual calm composure completely gone. Chris took a deep breath and fell back against the wall, wondering what the hell just happened.

Whatever it was, he knew that it was a game changer.

***

It was three days before Chris saw Peter again.

He was sitting at a table in the faculty lounge, halfway through Thomas Pynchon’s “Gravity’s Rainbow,” his free hand curled around the base of a Starbucks coffee cup. His head was bent in solemnness, the fingers of his other hand tracing along the line of words on the page.

“Did you know that Pynchon worked as a technical writer for Boeing while he was writing ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’?”

Peter looked up at him, frowning slightly. “Surely anyone who reads his Wikipedia page can find that information easily.” His fingers tapped on the page. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Argent?”

“How about if you call me Chris?”

“I’d rather not have that kind of informality between us.”

Because sucking Chris’s cock in a back room wasn’t enough to create informality between them? Fucking hell.

Chris gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “All right. Have a good day, Mr. Hale.”

Peter snapped the book closed and glared at him. “What do you want from me?”

He opened his mouth and then stopped…what _did_ he want from Peter?

Did he want more of what he got from Peter in the back room? Chris liked sex; he liked it more even without any strings attached. And he could get it a whole lot easier than getting it from Peter Hale.

Did he want to be friends? They didn’t have much else in common besides teaching. But then again, Chris hadn’t bothered to find out.

“I see,” Peter said, smiling haughtily at him. He stood up, tucking the book under his arm and picking up his Starbucks cup. “So it’s like that.”

“Like what?”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “Good enough for a dirty blowjob, but not quite good enough to actually speak to.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been trying to talk to you ever since I started working here.”

“Only because you put your stupid foot in your mouth and discovered just how quickly gossip moved through the campus grapevine. The esteemed Christopher Argent deigning to take a break from the lofty heights of architectural success to teach at the smallest campus in the UC system? It doesn’t make any sense why you’re here; so of course there’s only one reason,” he said, amused. “Tell me, Mr. Argent, how do you like slumming it with the rest of us mere mortals?”

Chris frowned. “That’s a god awful thing to say, Hale. I’m not slumming it.”

Peter took a deep breath and looked away, shaking his head. “Look, I’ll call off the gossiping doyenne and you and I can fake our cordiality—“

“Why does it have to be fake?”

That seemed to catch Peter off guard and Chris watched as a look of confusion interplayed with frustration on the handsome man’s face.

“Look, I admit that we started off on the wrong foot, but I want to make amends and try again,” he said, meeting Peter’s gaze. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for insulting your work. I had no right to criticize something I hadn’t even seen.”

“Thank you. Apology accepted,” Peter said, softly. They stared at each other, the uncertain silence between them stretching into awkward. “Well, if you’ll excuse me—“

“Have dinner with me tonight – and if you really don’t want to have anything to do with me, I’ll stop asking and I’ll stop bothering you.”

Peter licked his bottom lip and Chris suppressed a shiver; he knew what that tongue felt like. “There’s a diner on Riverside Drive, it’s called Edna’s. They serve the best steak and eggs on the west coast. At seven.”

“Where should I pick you up?”

Peter chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Just meet me there, Argent.”

Chris grinned. “All right. See you tonight.”

Peter nodded, ducking around him. Chris turned to watch him go, his eyes trailing down the wide back under his jacket, to the way that his dress pants clung to his ass.

“Oh, by the way…” Peter trailed off, catching Chris staring at his ass. He smirked and raised his eyebrow but Chris didn’t feel embarrassed over it. “By the way, the Beacon Hills Theatre is hosting a special showing of ‘Alpha Bondage’ tonight. We should go see it, so you can give me your critical feedback of my work.”

Chris swallowed, dryly. “Yeah, sure.”

Peter rolled his eyes and then leered at Chris. “See you tonight. _Christopher_.”

 


	17. A Dangerous Liaison (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a new chapter in my modern day/Regency/AU crossover mini-series "A Dangerous Liaison" 
> 
> Part 1 - Chapter 10  
> Part 2 - Chapter 15
> 
> End game: Peter/Chris, Stiles/Derek, Sheriff/Melissa, and Laura/Deputy Parrish (but he's a Commoner so that should be an interesting match up)

Peter ignored the look of intense dislike on Chris’s gorgeous face, walking across the room towards the dessert table. There was something about the older man that just got under Peter’s skin; like an itch that was just out of reach. And given _any_ opportunity, Peter would be very pleased to scratch _that_ itch. But from what Peter knew of Lord Argent, he had spent every year of their marriage faithful to his wife, Victoria, and mourned her for longer than was the required social norm after her death. As one of the most eligible members of the Peerage, Lord Argent had decided not to remarry, and was so impossibly discreet that Peter had not heard of a single dalliance.

 

_Could it be that Lord Argent was celibate?_

 

Peter glanced at the man as he spoke to a small group of admirers. He smiled and was being utterly charming to the group, breaking out into laughter.

 

No, it was ludicrous, Lord Argent wasn’t celibate. He was a confident man in tune with his body and self-aware of his mind; the type of man who took his pleasures seriously.  

 

That was what made Peter so curious; no doubt Chris Argent was a virile man, _in his prime_ , as Laura would say. His discretion in his affairs, if any, was laudable, but Peter didn’t fully trust anyone who didn’t have even a little wickedness in their lives.

 

His eyes scanned the various desserts greedily, wondering if it would be worth the extra time in the gym with his trainer. There was a sinfully delicious looking chocolate concoction that called to him and Peter deemed it worth the inconvenience. He picked up a few select pieces and took a small bite of the decadent chocolate fudge, letting out a pleased moan at the richness of the flavors.

 

Beside him, a man chuckled softly, perusing the selection as well. Peter grinned and nodded politely to Dr Alan Deaton. His family had opened the town’s animal hospital, just a small brick building settled in the pretty downtown area near the park. Under Alan’s expert tutelage, he had expanded it into a modern complex that served not just Beacon Hills, but several townships around it.

 

“A little indulgence doesn’t hurt,” Peter said, self-amused.

 

Alan raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t think you knew anything but excess, Peter.”

 

 _Ahhh_ , so Alan hadn’t quite forgiven Peter for his brief affair with Alan’s lovely sister, Marin. He didn’t know what exactly had set Alan off on them; after all, Marin was a woman who knew her own mind and knew how to keep their short, but delightful time together out of public knowledge. It was only because of Alan’s overly protective interference – a private investigator was involved – that brought their affair to light and forced Alan to step in as their family’s Patriarch to do something about it.

 

A shame, Peter had really liked spending time with her.

 

“And how is Lady Morrell? Is she enjoying life with her husband?”

 

Alan gave him a stern look, but he took a slow breath, his handsome face easing of tension. “Actually, she is. I saw them a few weeks ago and I believe they will be having their first child in about five months.”

 

Peter paused, mentally calculating the last time he had bedded Marin. _Two_ months ago. The child would not be his.

 

“Then I’m very glad for her; she made the right choice.” Peter smiled, taking a small bite of the strawberry, keeping his face perfectly polite as Alan looked him over.

 

“The Season is off to a good start,” Alan said, graciously turning to neutral topics. “I think everyone is looking forward to the First Ball.”

 

“I agree,” he said, looking as a tall, lanky young man holding two drinks walked towards Lady Allison. “Alan, who is the young Lady Argent’s escort?”

 

Alan looked towards the small group and smiled. “His name is Sir Isaac Lahey. I believe he is under wardship of Lord Chris Argent. He acts as Allison’s protector and companion; they are like siblings.”

 

Peter frowned slightly. “Lahey? Wasn’t there something a few years ago involving his father?”

 

“His father was a mean drunk,” Alan said, distastefully. “He used to beat Isaac and lock him in a broken freezer in the basement. Young Lord Stilinski informed his father and the Sheriff investigated the abuse. Isaac’s father is in prison, all of his assets and title transferred to Isaac, and Lord Argent acted as his legal guardian until Isaac reached his Majority.”

 

“I’m surprised that he hasn’t struck out on his own; he must be a wealthy young man.”

 

Alan smiled. “I think this is the first time he’s ever felt safe in a family; and he dotes on Lady Allison.”

 

Peter watched as Isaac stood close to her, looking at her as she spoke, his full attention on her. That was not a “brotherly” look of love, Peter thought, smiling slightly.

 

“Does he have a profession?”

 

“He’s a talented artist, trained in Paris, and works as a designer in Lord Argent’s shop.”

 

“I see,” he murmured, raising his eyebrow slightly.

 

Argent, no stranger to living a life of his own design, had opened a successful business customizing cars and motorcycles. Peter remembered that it raised a lot of eyebrows and sparked a bit of controversy at the time, many people saying that it was Chris’s way of dealing with his grief.  

 

He took a deep breath and gazed at the people in the ballroom. These were the members of the Peerage, born into immeasurable wealth and a lifetime of respect, recognized as royal authority for as long as they bred their bloodlines. Like Peter, many of them would never need to work a day of their lives. They could live off their name for the next hundred generations.

 

Peter _despised_ most of them; but he was no hypocrite and he recognized and accepted his own entitlements.

 

But then there were men like Stilinski and Argent and Deaton – men who were born into the Peerage, but who pursued work and service. He respected them; Peter was honest enough to own up that he didn’t have that same sense of purpose and direction.

 

“I see Derek has returned,” Alan said, nodding to the entrance way of the ballroom.

 

Peter turned to see Derek walking into the room as dozens of heads turned and the murmur of voices change in tone as people began to notice his nephew. He was glad to see that Derek was dressed appropriately in a sharp suit and Cora had her hand on his arm wearing a modest black dress.

 

“Excuse me, Alan,” Peter said, setting his plate aside and walking towards them.

 

He smiled, meeting Derek’s wary glance. “Derek. Nephew. I’m so glad you’ve returned.”

 

Derek accepted both the handshake and the hug with a little hesitance. Peter held him for a long moment, patting his back. The lanky teenager had filled out, his stubbly beard was well-groomed, and he looked like a proper Hale heir.

 

“Thanks, Uncle Peter. It’s good to be home.”

 

Peter nodded and leaned in to kiss Cora’s cheek. “You look lovely, my dear, thank you for picking Derek up at the airport.”

 

“Der!” Laura shouted, rushing across the room. She threw herself against Derek and Derek laughed, holding her close, picking her off her feet. “Oh Derek, I’m so glad you’re finally home!”

 

“Thanks, Laura.”

 

“Come on, I want you to meet a few people,” Laura said, taking Derek’s hand and looking at Peter. “With your permission, of course.”

 

“Of course, go and enjoy yourselves,” Peter said, smiling at his family. He watched with something akin to pride as Derek stood tall, ignoring the looks and whispers around him, as Laura stopped to introduce Derek to Lady Melissa McCall and her son. Derek gave her a polite bow and shook Scott’s hand; and smiled as Laura dragged him back towards the Sheriff and the small group of people she had left to greet her brother.

 

“Lord Hale,” Scott said, bowing his head slightly. “My mother wanted to have a word with you if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course, I would be honored to keep your mother company,” he said, taking Melissa’s hand and politely kissing her knuckles.

 

Scott gave him a narrowed-eyed warning look, but laughed when his mother shooed him back to Allison and his friends.

 

Melissa chuckled, raising her eyebrow at Peter. “He wouldn’t let me walk across the room to you on my own.”

 

“Well, he wouldn’t be acting as a proper escort,” he said, smiling at her.

 

They watched as Scott, young Lord Stilinski, Isaac and Allison walked towards Laura’s friends, their groups blending seamlessly. Lord Argent had joined them as well and chatted with the Sheriff, keeping an eye on the younger people.

 

“It would seem that your son has his eye on Lady Allison,” Peter said, discreetly.

 

“Or on Sir Isaac,” Melissa murmured, giving Peter a smile. “I’m not quite sure which of the two he is interested in pursuing this Season.”

 

“Perhaps both,” he said, slyly.

 

Melissa elbowed Peter teasingly and they both laughed.

 

“I believe Lady Hale has her eye on someone, too,” she said and Peter turned his gaze to see Laura standing beside the Sheriff, ducking her head slightly as the older man said something to her. It looked intimate, but did not overstep any social boundaries.

 

Peter turned to look at Melissa; she was a rare beauty – composed, independent, and compassionate, with a strong inner spirit – if he had anything that was worth offering to a woman of her caliber and status, Lady Melissa McCall would be the perfect partner.

 

“They make a handsome couple,” he commented, glancing at Melissa. “You and John made a handsome couple, too. Why didn’t you pursue it publically?”

 

He watched as Melissa pressed her lips together in a polite smile and Peter wondered if he hadn’t overstepped.

 

“I apologize if—“

 

“It wasn’t a secret, but we chose not to flaunt it,” she said, softly. He watched as she gazed across the room at the Sheriff. “Though I fear that John will never be able to see beyond Claudia; and I will never be able to compete with the ghost of a perfect wife.”

 

Peter nodded, frowning slightly. He wasn’t all that certain that Laura, even with her youth and vitality and charm, would be able to compete either. Well, damn it, that certainly changed things.

 

“Thank you for your kind insight,” he said, graciously.

 

“Oh no, he didn’t,” Melissa said, pressing her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter.

 

“What?” Peter said, looking back to the group. Lady Lydia Martin screeched, a terrible stain on her white dress, and young Lord Stilinski looked extremely guilty, an empty glass in his hand. “The first casualty of the Season.”

 

“Oh, poor Stiles,” she said, chuckling. “Lydia is never going to forgive him for that.”

 

They watched as Allison, Laura, and Cora surrounded Lydia, walking her quickly through the room to the restrooms.

 

The remaining men turned and gave Stiles knowing looks, the younger man flushing so red that Peter could see it from here. The Sheriff smiled and said something to his son, the other men chuckling, and Stiles ducked his head and ran both of his hands over his head.

 

Peter watched as the young Lord Stilinski moved to stand closer to Derek; and he had to wonder if that hadn’t been a cunning little ploy by Stiles to eliminate any possible rivals in his pursuit of Derek. There was a look on the young man’s face as he watched Derek speaking and Peter smiled in excitement.

 

Yes, he would invite the Stilinskis to his home for dinner – for several different events, in fact; he wanted to make sure that Laura had her chance with the Sheriff, but more than that, as Peter watched Stiles and Derek together, he wondered if they weren’t the better Hale-Stilinski match.  

 

“Peter, I know that look,” Melissa said, looking at him.

 

His smile widened and he gave a short nod. “Yes. I think this will be a most interesting Season for us all.”


End file.
